Prison Camp
by Under A Bright Star
Summary: It is the time after WW II. Prussia has been taken prisoner by Russia and is detained in a work camp, together with Estonia, Lithuania, Poland, Latvia and Bulgaria. All of them are struggling to cope with the camp's poor conditions. Prussia catches Russia's special attention … Onesided!RussiaxPrussia. Rating will go up in future chapters for sexual violence.
1. Prologue: A day in a Russian work camp

**Warning:** This story is rated T, but the rating will go up to M for sexual violence in future chapters. I want you to know this so you can decide whether you want to read it (which of course I hope) or not.

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**1. Prologue: A day in a Russian prison camp**

"Wake up!" The voice of the guard is ringing through our cabin, causing a stirring and bustling as everyone gets up from their bunks.

It is six o'clock in the morning, still pitch-dark outside. I sit up on the straw in my bunk and rub my eyes. The guy that I share my bunk with, Bulgaria, has already left. As I look around the room, I find that Estonia and Latvia have already gone outside, too, while Lithuania is trying to convince his bunkmate Poland to get out of bed.

"Are you okay, Po? Please, get up." Lithuania looks worriedly at the blond guy, trying to turn his face towards the lamplight.

"Let me sleep, Liet! I'm tired and it's sooo cold!" he complains and draws the blanket over his head.

"Morning!" I exclaim distinctly cheerful, grinning down at them from my upper bunk.

As expected, Lithuania throws me a slightly annoyed look. "So at least _someone_'s in good spirits. A couple more days in here and you won't be so excited about getting up," he says disapprovingly.

Poland peeks out from under his blanket and asks, "Tell me, Prussia, what makes you so happy about getting up? Is it the freaking cold, or the prospect of having to work all day in that stupid forest?"

Quickly grabbing my toothbrush, soap bar and towel I reply, "It must be your pitiful faces." I jump down from my bunk and dash to the door to escape their whining. Poland can be fun, but Lithuania should loosen up a little. He definitely worries too much. I simply refuse to walk around quiet and downcast all day with a dejected look on my face like he does.

My feet are getting cold on the chilly ground so I tighten the footwraps around them, slip into my shoes and step outside. "Good morning, Gilbert!" the others greet me. The cold and crisp Siberian air has me wide awake in an instant. It creeps under my clothes and mercilessly squeezes out the last remaining bits of bunk warmth.

"Morning!" I greet them back, breath forming white clouds in the clear air.

Bulgaria passes me on his way back inside the cabin. "Man, the water was frozen today! I had to break the ice in the basin before I could wash myself," he warns me with chattering teeth.

In front of our cabin, the trusty had placed a basin half-filled with ice-cold water on the snowy ground. This is for the six people in the cabin to wash in. I usually grab my personal items and rush outside at the sound of the wake-up call to be the first to wash in clean water. Today, though, it took me longer than usual to wake up – this nasty cold had me lie awake during the night – so that now I'm only the fourth person to wash in the water. As I wait for my turn, I watch Estonia and Latvia wash themselves, shivering from the cold. When it's finally my turn, half of the water is spilled, the remaining quantum dark with dirt. I don't change my clothes, as I only have the ones that I wear on my body. Everyone sleeps and works in the same clothes.

Next is breakfast. To us, who are constantly hungry, this is a central event of the day. Another trusty draws a cart past the row of cabins, stopping at each door to hand out the food. We are sitting around the table in our cabin, with our tin cups placed in front of us, impatiently waiting for the trusty to reach our cabin, stomachs growling.

The most famished of us is Latvia. He is the smallest and youngest of us and still growing, so he needs a lot of food which he obviously doesn't get around here. His greatest fear is that he will stop growing and stay small for the rest of his life because of the lack of food.

Right now, he's fidgeting around in his seat, playing with his spoon. "Why does it take so long today? They haven't run out of rations again, have they?" he asks anxiously, referring to an unfortunate event some time ago when the camp ran out of provisions because of a general food shortage in the entire country.

"No, I'm sure we would have heard about that." Bulgaria dismisses Latvia's hunger-driven anxieties, but you can see that he is not entirely sure of it himself. Latvia's suggestion has planted a tiny trace of doubt in the back of his mind. The subject of food and mealtimes is so vital to us that everything related to it must be taken seriously.

A particular loud grumbling emanates from Latvia's stomach. He curls up in his seat, moaning with hunger.

"Stomach's complaining, eh?" I ask.

He squints and throws me an annoyed look.

"Oh come on, don't be mad at me. Forget about the food shortage. Can't you smell the coffee already?" I say reassuringly, trying to lighten up his spirits.

Latvia sits up again, but looks questioningly over to Estonia for confirmation.

Estonia just nods. He's a calm and silent man, and Latvia apparently trusts him more than me.

Lithuania has walked over to the door to check how far the trusty has already proceeded with his breakfast distribution. "He has only just arrived at cabin number three," he shares his observations.

"So it's still going to take a while," Bulgaria says. "Might as well use the time to take a nap. Wake me up when breakfast is served." He yawns, crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on them in an attempt at catching up on some sleep.

After what seems like an eternity, we hear the familiar sounds of the kettle clanging in front of our cabin door. Bulgaria awakens all by himself. He needn't have asked us to wake him up. No matter how tired we may have been before, at the sounds promising food everyone is wide awake and jumps up from their seats. The prospect of food lifts our spirits. We cheer the long awaited appearance of the trusty with a loud hooray. "Sorry for the delay, folks. Little organisational problem in the kitchen …," he apologizes as everyone stands in line to receive breakfast.

"Hey mate, what is it this morning?" Bulgaria calls out to the trusty. "Can I smell banitsa and boza?" he jokingly lists up the ingredients of his favourite Bulgarian breakfast.

"What on earth is that? Don't you have any decent food in Bulgaria? It's got to be freshly baked bread rolls with butter and marmalade, and hot chocolate," I toss in, trying to surpass his fantasies about food.

"Dream on," the trusty answers flatly. Being a prisoner himself, he gets to eat the same food as we, so he's not mad at our remarks. He fills each tin cup with a dark liquid they call coffee and hands everyone two slices of brown bread. We also receive a jug of water for the six of us to share. Today we are lucky: The coffee is still warm, in contrast to the water, which has partly turned to ice on its way from the kitchen to our cabin. As we sit down at the table, I clutch my bowl of coffee to warm my hands and take a sip of the dark liquid, savoring its warmth. It tastes very bitter and leaves my teeth stained, but it warms me from the inside out.

"Does any one of you know what this Communist 'coffee' is made of?"

"Acorns, by the taste of it," Estonia suggests.

"No, I don't think it's made of acorns. Acorns are far too good." Poland vehemently shakes his head in disagreement. "To me, it tastes like it's made of horse droppings mixed with acid. How can you possibly drink such horrible stuff?" He screws up his nose in disgust. He never drinks his coffee. In fact, it is the same scenario every morning; it has almost become a breakfast ritual: Not even taking one sip of his coffee, Poland leaves all of it to Lithuania despite his friend's endeavours to get his protégé to drink some of it.

At the cue, the usual conversation between the two ensues. "Come on, Po, try at least a little bit of it," Lithuania urges his friend. "Even if you don't like the taste, it will warm you up."

"Nooo." Poland contorts his face in abhorrence at the mere thought of drinking coffee, and with the tips of his fingers, as if he's afraid to dirty his hands by touching it, he pushes his cup over to Lithuania. "You can have it," he says as he settles back in his seat. "It doesn't have any calories anyway."

Lithuania drinks some of Poland's coffee, then passes the cup on to Latvia, who avidly gulps down most of its contents.

Poland frowns when he sees it. "Why did you give Latvia my coffee? It was for you," he nags in the direction of Lithuania.

"I already drank as much as I wanted, and I thought the others might want some of it, too," Lithuania explains patiently.

"But it was _my_ coffee," Poland sulks.

"You said you didn't want it," the ever-patient Lithuania says in a calm voice.

Latvia passes the mug with the remaining coffee on to me. I'm about to take a sip of it, when Poland complains,

"I don't want Prussia to drink any of my coffee."

"Why not?" Lithuania asks him, still not the slightest bit annoyed. I wonder at this man's tolerance.

"Because I hate him," Poland says in reply.

I take an extra large swallow, eyeing him, looking forward to his reaction. Action is what we need here.

"Hey!" Poland calls out in protest, but does nothing about it except to cast a reproachful look at Lithuania, as if he was the one to blame.

"Aaah, that was good," I say, smirking as I place the cup back on the table, hoping to incite a further reaction.

"Liet, do something about it! He's not supposed to drink my coffee!" Poland cries out.

Lithuania audibly breathes out, but says nothing. He just grabs the cup and passes it on to Bulgaria.

I had hoped for some sort of fight or argument, but it is rather difficult to stir up any action among these quiet and serious - in other words boring - people. At least I don't care that the coffee is gone, as the best that can be said about it is that it's warm.

As I eat my first piece of bread, the grains are crunching between my teeth. Even the bread doesn't taste like real bread. They must have mixed the flour with some ersatz stuff. I put the second slice in my pocket. It is meant as a lunch that we can eat during the day, as our next meal, supper, will not be provided before evening. On my first morning in camp, I ate both slices at once, not knowing that the Communists didn't serve lunch to their captives. I was sorry by early afternoon …

After breakfast, we set off for work. This camp is a logging camp, so most of the detainees cut down timber in the forest. Only the lucky ones get jobs with the officers to help them do secretarial work. Another job that is considered advantageous is cleaning around the camp, as the work is easy compared to logging. Some time ago, Poland and Lithuania, these lucky bastards, managed to obtain two of these posts. They clean our cabin and other areas of the camp on two days per week now, which means that they don't have to cut wood on those days.

Since I arrived at the camp, I've been on a team that fells trees together with the other nations. That work burns up a lot of energy. Every morning after breakfast we march to the forest which is a few miles away, accompanied by a guard. There we spend the entire day chopping down trees, sawing them into smaller pieces and loading them on carts. At noon, the work is interrupted for half an hour. That is the time when I eat my second slice of bread. When we get thirsty, we eat snow. After lunch, work is resumed until six o'clock in the evening, when we march back to the camp. Ravenous by then, we can hardly wait until supper is distributed.

We gather around the table in the cabin again and are each provided with a bowl of watery soup and two chunks of bread. With our stomachs filled and the day's work done, the ensuing hours are the happiest time of day. The evening is spent talking and playing card games before we go to sleep early to save energy. You can't burn up many calories when you're lying in your bunk, right? Plus, it's warm under the blankets.

Two evenings a week and on Sundays, prisoners have to attend classes. We are taught Russian, and we learn about the benefits of Communism. Apart from maybe the Russian language lessons (they come in quite handy), I can't take these lessons seriously, no-one does. Like the others, I spend my time in class dozing off. Nobody bothers to learn anything, even though most of the teachers are nice and seem genuinely motivated to teach us apathetic bunch about their beloved Communism. They must think we are retarded, but don't worry. As long as you don't ask critical questions or stick out in any way, Communist indoctrination is a lot better than work: The classroom is relatively well-heated and you have the opportunity to take a nap in a warm place.

Living together with the other nations sure is fun, but I absolutely hate that they starve us while letting us do all the hard work. Officially, our stay at this camp is supposed to re-educate us so that we become proper Communist countries.

I can only sneer at that idea. In the little time that I have spent here, I have gotten considerably thinner. I wonder how I'm supposed to transform into a "proper Communist country" when my body is dwindling away in front of my own eyes. Hell, my ass has become so skinny my pants keep dropping if I don't hold them up. I swear I'm not kidding here. On top of that, it's winter, which means the temperature drops very low here. The few clothes that we get are insufficient to protect us from the cold, skinny as we all have become. The cold makes it hard to sleep. My hands and feet are already covered with frostbites. I know this cannot go on forever.

If, after all this complaining, you think that I'm down and depressed, you are very much mistaken. I won't let Russia break me so easily. I am determined to survive, and ever since the day of my arrival at this camp, I've been thinking of a plan to get out of here. The harsher the conditions get, the stronger my will to survive and get out of this place. The camp is barely secured, the only safety measures are a wall and a fence that are lit at night and a few watch officers who guard it. Yet, hardly anybody has tried to run away from here.

During my first days in camp I heard about three people who escaped. They were found dead a couple of days later some 25 miles away from here, frozen to death. We couldn't even bury their bodies because the earth is frozen solid. These sorry guys must wait until spring for their funeral. The Russians know that our chances of survival outside equal zero during this time of year. So simply running away is not an option, at least not now. I will have to delay my flight until spring and better weather conditions. My aim is to survive until then. I am determined to seize any chance that will help me last longer. And trust me, I will get out of here the first day the weather allows it. Around this time in a few months, I'll be back in Germany with my brother. You better believe me.

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**A/N: Critique is always appreciated! I know begging for reviews is frowned upon, but they inspire me to keep writing. So I'd be happy if you review! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

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	2. Resistance

**Enjoy! **

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**2. Resistance  
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When the six prisoners were waiting in line in front of the camp's guard post after work the following evening, Prussia and Estonia were unexpectedly picked out by a guard who was walking along the line of prisoners.

"Hey, you and you." He tapped them on the shoulder. "Step forward."

Prussia and Estonia looked at each other, surprised, and reluctantly stepped out of the line. The other four stopped walking and cast anxious glances towards the two.

"The others, move on!" Another guard shuffled them forward. Why were they separated from the group, Prussia and Estonia had no idea.

"Come with me." The guard beckoned them to follow him.

Slowly, they walked after him, still uncertain about what he was up to.

"Where are we going?" Prussia demanded.

"You'll see." The guard replied vaguely.

He led them into the guard room, where he pointed to several provisions sacks stacked in a corner.

"Take these and come with me." They hefted the heavy bags up across their shoulders and plodded after the guard, out of the camp's gate, along a stretch of the road to where a horse cart was parked in the shade of a large tree.

At the sight of the cart, Prussia stopped. Something was wrong. The driver of the cart wasn't wearing a uniform. He seemed to be a civilian, probably a farmer. The manner in which he was talking to the guard told him that he must be the guard's father. The sacks he carried contained flour and beans. What was going on here? He let the sacks slip out of his hands and dropped them on the ground.

Meanwhile, the guard had climbed onto the cart. "Hand me the sacks," he demanded. Estonia obeyed and hoisted a first bag up to him.

Prussia kept standing. Why were they arranging to transport food away from the camp? He was hungry every single hour of the day, and here the guards were smuggling provisions out of the camp. He felt anger rising inside him. "What are you doing?" He demanded.

"That's none of your business. Give me the bags already." The guard held out his hands to him from on top of the cart.

"You're stealing food from the camp, right?" Prussia exclaimed angrily.

The guard was unimpressed. "What do you care?"

Prussia was still standing frozen on the spot where he had come to a halt, not moving an inch towards the guard. His eyes were narrowed now, as he was frantically thinking what he could do. He would not help them steal food that was meant for the camp, for the internees, for _him_. With a sudden movement, he seized one of the sacks and ran off, back towards the camp's entrance gate.

"Hey, you! Stop!" Surprised at the prisoner's unexpected reaction, the guard hurried to jump off the cart and ran after Prussia.

When Gilbert saw the guard chasing after him, he tried to gain speed, but his steps were hampered by the heavy sack that was dangling and bumping against his knees, and to his horror, he found the guard catching up to him fast.

Very soon, he heard the guard panting behind him. A quick glance back over his shoulder told him that the guard had caught up and was now running directly behind him, trying to seize the sack. A few seconds later, his hands had gotten hold of the sack and he started tugging. "Give it to me!"

But Prussia held the bag tightly clutched in his hands. "I'd rather die," he hissed, unwilling to give in. A fierce tug war ensued.

No matter how hard the guard tore and tugged, Prussia wouldn't let go of the provisions.

The guard looked around for help. "Serge, help me!" He called out to an officer who was passing by.

When the officer saw what was going on, he came running towards them. He held Prussia so that despite his fervent scuffling, the guard was able twist the sacks out of his grip.

Struggling against the officer's firm hold, Prussia watched the guard carry the bags to the cart.

He protested, "Let go of me! What you're doing is illegal! How can you as an officer allow this to happen? I'll report you to the commander, and you'll be discharged!"

The officer who held him snorted. "Good luck! Who do you think you are? The commander doesn't care! Neither about what we are doing nor about you!"

"That's a lie!" Prussia shouted. He looked towards the cart. With Estonia's help, the guard had finished loading the sacks onto the cart.

"Gee up!" He heard the driver call out to the horse, and the horse cart pulled away.

The sight of the provisions disappearing made Prussia even angrier. He squirmed and writhed in the officer's grip, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Stop! You crooked thieves! This is our food! You have no right to take it!"

"Shut your trap!" The officer said, losing patience. "You'll see what you get for messing with us," he threatened.

Followed by Estonia, the guard approached. "What do we do with him?" He asked, nodding towards Prussia.

"Let me handle this." The officer said. He threw Gilbert with his back against the camp's wall.

"Take off your shoes," he demanded.

"Why?"

"Because I say so."

"What if I don't?"

The officer drew his pistol. "Take them off!"

The atmosphere was heating up. The guard cast a nervous glance at the officer, now that he was holding a weapon. The officer noticed but kept his gun pointed at Gilbert. He knew that shooting a prisoner was considered an act of sabotage and meant extra paperwork and writing a report, but there had to be exceptions for acts of resistance ...

Estonia had stood by and watched the scene. He knew Prussia was right, but he was about to get himself into serious trouble if he kept making such a racket. As inmates, they were at the bottom of the camp's hierarchy and couldn't do anything about the food smuggling anyway. Not wanting the situation to escalate further, he tried to calm Prussia down. "Just do it," he said in a low voice. If Prussia kept resisting, they were going to miss out on supper.

The guard had heard him. "Did you hear that?" he jeered. "Even your friend betrays you. He seems to be a reasonable guy. You'd better take him as an example."

"No. I'll show you how to do it." Prussia said to Estonia. Ignoring the gun, he yelled towards the officer, "You have no right to shoot me! You have no right to steal food! You'll never get me to take my shoes off! If you want them, go get them yourself!" He contorted his face into a horrible smirk and grinned right at the officer.

"That's enough!" The officer struck out at Prussia, who managed to duck and dodge the blow. Furious, he lunged out to return the hit, but the guard intervened and held his arm back. With joint forces, he and the officer managed to wrestle him down. The guard held his arms and upper body, while the officer tried to take off his shoes but with Gilbert kicking around madly it was almost impossible.

"Ouch!" The officer gasped angrily when Gilbert landed a kick in his ribs. He had enough. He seized his pistol and violently struck it at Gilbert's head. The blow knocked him out. His head drooped forwards, his body went limp, and it was easy for the officer to take off his shoes and slip off his footwraps and socks.

"Let's take him to the guard room," the officer said when he had finished. "You will be coming with us, too," he said to Estonia. He and the guard seized Gilbert's body by the shoulders and dragged him along to the guard room.

Estonia followed quietly behind, watching his friend's bare feet trailing over the rough ground. He bent down and grasped Gilbert's ankles to help carry him, but the officer's angry "No! Don't touch him!" made him stop. Gilbert's feet continued to scrape over gravel and bump against stones and were soon leaving behind a trail of blood.

Gilbert came to when the guard and the officer were trying to pull him up the stairs that led to the guard room. His head was aching and he needed a few seconds to regain orientation. Had they really knocked him out? If anything, this made him even angrier than before.

Blinking from under heavy eyelids, the first thing that appeared before his eyes was the banister. He groped for it and managed to get his hands on it. He closed his fingers around it tightly in an attempt at making it as difficult as he could for the two to drag him onwards. "Let go of it already!" The guard shouted angrily when he noticed, pounding on Prussia's knuckles to make him loosen his grip.

"What's going on here?" A firm voice demanded. Still clutching the banister, Prussia turned his head. For a second, his vision became blurred at the abrupt movement. Between white spots, he could discern a captain who was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up to them.

Gilbert let go of the banister. The guard and the officer might be corrupt, but a captain surely had a higher code of honour. "These rotten thieves stole provisions from the camp and took away my shoes! They have no right to do that! Tell them to give me my shoes back!" He called out with new hope.

"Quiet!" The captain bellowed. "Serge, what happened?" He asked the officer.

Prussia's hope fell at the captain addressing the officer by his first name. They seemed to be friends.

"We had these two prisoners help us load the cart. This one," he turned towards Prussia, "didn't cooperate. He seems to believe it's _his_ food."

The three Russians laughed.

So the captain was involved in the food smuggling, too, Prussia thought. Was everyone around here corrupt? "You pathetic crooks!" He shouted, thrashing around wildly, renewing his attempts to wrestle himself free, disregarding the dull pain in his head.

"What do you think you are doing, making such a row?" The captain bellowed in Prussia's face in an attempt to intimidating him.

"What do you think _you_'re doing?" Prussia shouted back. "You just come along, not knowing what this situation is about, and think you know better! Ask that crooked friend of yours what he asked us to do!" He threw himself in a rant now. "What kind of captain are you? You should know better than to steal food from prisoners! But no, you're too much of a coward to do anything about it! You're afraid of your own officers-"

He was silenced by the captain violently kicking his boot in his stomach. He doubled up and slumped back on the ground, gasping for air.

"I bet a few hours in detention will make him compliant," the captain said maliciously. Turning to Estonia, he said, "You're going with him. You'll miss out on supper, too. You can thank your friend for this." He walked up the stairs and held the guard room door open.

This couldn't be true! Prussia thought, trying to catch his breath, frantically thinking of a way to avoid being locked up in a cell. He had done nothing that justified a detention. They didn't have the right to make him help steal provisions. If even the captain was corrupt, he needed to talk to someone of a higher rank, no, to _the_ highest-ranking person of the entire camp.

"You can't just lock us away!" He shouted. "It's illegal! I demand to speak to the commanding officer!"

Ignoring his protests, the officer and the guard dragged Prussia into the guard room. Estonia walked in by himself. The guard locked the two in a cell in the corner.

As soon as the guard had left, Estonia whispered, "Are you okay? How's your head?" He gave Gilbert a critical look.

"I'm fine. It's nothing." Gilbert dismissed Estonia's worries. Indeed, the headache had subsided considerably, and he could see clearly again. He looked around. The cell was small and unfurnished. It was separated from the rest of the guard room by several iron bars only. From inside the cell, he had a good view on the table where the three Russians were sitting now. They looked to be starting dinner, as there were several bottles on the table now and everyone was getting food out of their pockets. Prussia snorted. He certainly wouldn't quietly stand by and watch them eat dinner while he was locked up in a cell! Stubbornly, he hammered against the iron bars and shouted, "Let me out! Release me! Give me my shoes back! I demand to speak to the commander!"

Estonia kept quiet. "You really should stop making such a fuss," he tried to stop Prussia a couple of times, but to no avail. Prussia kept on screaming and beating against the iron bars. After a while, Estonia gave up and withdrew to a corner of the cell.

At first, the three Russians tried to ignore the noise and paid no attention to Prussia. When the noise did not lessen, however, they began to get irritated. "Has he been like this the entire time?" The captain asked, throwing a sideways glance at the unruly prisoner. He had wanted to spend the evening quietly. He deemed it bad luck that he of all people was on duty this night.

"Yes," the officer sighed. "He gave us quite a hard time."

"He'll soon be hoarse," the guard said.

Prussia kept shouting and hitting his fists against the iron bars. "You crooked thieves! Release me! I want to speak to the commander!" He shouted incessantly.

The captain lost his patience. He stood up from the table and walked over to the cell. "Will you be quiet!" He bellowed, trying to silence Prussia.

"Let me out! I want to speak to the commander!" Prussia shouted in reply, underlining his demands by further hammering against the bars.

The captain took a deep breath. He was struggling to control his rage. He walked to a cupboard and returned with a rope. "Reach your hands out through the bars," he demanded.

"Forget it," Prussia said stubbornly. "I want my shoes back! Let me speak to the commander!"

"Reach your hands out!" The captain yelled, barely able to control his rage now.

Prussia still didn't obey.

On the verge of exploding, the captain turned on his heel and fetched the key. "You'll see what you get for making such a racket," he hissed menacingly as he turned the key in the lock. He tore the cell door open. The officer and the guard went inside. Each of them grabbed one of Prussia's hands and forced them through the iron bars so that the captain could tie his wrists to the iron bars.

Handcuffed now, Prussia couldn't hurl his fists at the bars any longer. But he wouldn't give up so easily. He tried out in which ways he could still move and found out that when he tore at the rope with full force, the iron cell door opened a little in its hinges just to slam shut again with a booming sound of metal hitting against metal that let the floor of the guardroom reverberate. The rope cut into his wrists when he pulled at it with so much effort, but he was too furious to care. He smirked at the new opportunity to produce noise and made ample use of it.

When the noise and the yelling resumed, the three Russians looked at each other.

"He's insane," the guard said exasperated, shaking his head in disbelief at the raging prisoner who was violently tugging at his bonds, blood trickling down his arms. "I kinda feel sorry for the other fellow. The poor bloke is in the same squad and even has to share a cabin with him."

"Why don't we let him have his way and take him to the commander?" The officer suggested. "Even if he tells him that we stole food, the commander won't believe him. We can tell him that he was disobeying orders. It's three against one. The commander won't believe a prisoner over us."

The captain nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. I can think of better ways to spend the evening than sitting within hearing of this crazy guy."

The three stood up from the table and released Prussia and Estonia from the cell.

Prussia had stopped shouting at the new turn of events. "Where are we going?" He asked, curious.

"To the commander." The captain said. "You'll see that he won't believe a word of what you say."

A self-satisfied grin showed on Prussia's face. He had gotten what he wanted. He willingly went along. The camp's commanding officer had to believe him. He surely wouldn't turn a blind eye to corruption and to guards that took away prisoners' shoes when it was freezing cold.

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**A/N:**

******So Gilbert and Ivan meet for the first time in the next chapter ...  
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**I hope you liked it! Tell me what you think!**

** P.S.: Can you tell already why Estonia keeps so much in the background?  
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	3. Commander Braginski

**3. Commander Braginski  
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The captain knocked on the door of the commander's office. "Come in," a deep voice called from inside and everyone walked in. Gilbert blinked against the brightness of the room. The office was spacious and luxuriously furnished; a little old-fashioned, but elegant, Gilbert thought. His eyes were drawn towards the commander. He was a man impossible to overlook. He was of a very large build, broad-shouldered and heavy. He couldn't be much older than he himself was, Gilbert supposed. He was wearing a greyish-green uniform with a red five-pointed Soviet star at the front; several medals decorated his chest. With a welcoming smile on his face, he looked up from behind his large mahogany desk. He sure wouldn't approve of the goings-on in camp and the way the guards had handled him, Gilbert thought optimistically.

"What is it? Is there a problem?" The commander asked. He seemed a little surprised at the sight of the two prisoners. Inmates were not an everyday sight in his office.

"This prisoner demanded to talk to you, Commander Braginski." The captain shoved Gilbert towards the desk. At the unexpected push, Gilbert lost balance and stumbled a few steps closer to the commander, who simply watched as the prisoner stumbled and quickly got to his feet again.

Russia bestowed a closer look at the ragged figure standing in front of him. Over all, the prisoner looked battered. His clothes were scruffy and frayed, his hair was dishevelled, a black bruise marred the side of his forehead, and his hands were smeared in blood. Strangely, his feet were bare and bloody as well, yet he kept himself upright. His face wore a look of fierce determination.

"Who are you and what is it that you want?" The commander asked, not unfriendly. Something about this prisoner made him curious.

This was his chance and he had better turn it into a success, Gilbert thought. Failure was not an option. Everything depended on whether the commander would believe him or not. He had to make a good impression on him. He took a deep breath and started,

"I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. The officer and the guard beat me, stole my shoes and locked me in a cell because I refused to help them steal food from the camp. The captain knows about it, but tolerates it."

He looked Russia in the eyes, hoping he would understand how much this matter meant to him, that all his hopes rested on him. Russia returned his gaze, but he seemed inscrutable. Gilbert blinked.

The commander stood up. Gilbert noticed only then how tall he was. "What do you have to say to these claims? Are they true?" Russia demanded from his subordinates.

"No, sir," the captain answered. "The prisoner is making things up. We wanted him to help us carry provisions to the kitchen, but he disobeyed our orders. He went violent and insulted and attacked us. We took his shoes and held him in detention in order to discipline him."

"What do you say to these accusations?" The commander asked Gilbert.

"He's lying!" Gilbert exclaimed, his anger flaring up again. "The guard and the officer had me carry provisions to a cart outside the camp. The driver was the guard's father. When I refused to help them, they beat me up and stole my shoes."

"Where are his shoes?" Russia asked.

"Here." The guard held up Gilbert's shoes.

"Give the prisoner his shoes back."

A smug grin appeared on Gilbert's face at this first success. _Victory! _He thought as the guard reluctantly handed him his shoes.

"But, sir," the captain protested. "Do you believe him over us?"

"No," Russia answered. "But I believe he should get his shoes back. It's cold outside."

Gilbert's smirk vanished from his face at Russia not believing him. Wouldn't he understand? "I swear I'm telling the truth. These people stole food from the camp! The prisoners go hungry! You need to do something about it!" He exclaimed.

Russia patiently let him finish his protests. Did it seem so only to Gilbert, or was the commander amused? Had he just seen a treacherous twitch in the corner of his mouth? Puzzled, Gilbert fell silent.

"I'd like to remind you that it's still me who decides what to do." The commander said. Smiling leniently, he continued, "I understand that you were upset about your shoes being taken away but this does not give you the right to accuse my officers." At the last words, his expression had turned severe. "I fully trust my staff. These three have done nothing to diminish my faith in them."

Gilbert fought against his disappointment. He had to acknowledge defeat and accept that the highest authority in camp did not believe him. This was to be expected, he told himself. It was as the officer had said: He couldn't expect the commander to believe a prisoner over three of his subordinates.

"What about the other prisoner? Why did you bring him?" Russia asked the captain, pointing at Estonia.

"Him?" Surprised, the captain looked at Estonia. He had almost forgotten about him. "Oh, we just took him along."

"I see." Turning to Estonia, Russia asked, "Do you have anything to say on the matter? What is your view on prisoner Beilschmidt's and the captain's claims?"

The guard pushed Estonia forward.

"Er…" At the unexpected address, a sheepish look appeared on Estonia's face. "What Prussia said is true," he finally said. "The officer and the guard had us help them carry bags of provisions to a cart. They hauled them out of the camp. The captain is involved in it, too."

Russia nodded. "Thank you, but this won't change my mind on the matter. I regard the case as settled. Take the prisoners back to their cabins."

Russia gazed after Prussia as he was led out of the office by the guard. It was unusual that a prisoner demanded to speak to him. In fact, this was the first time this had happened. Something about this prisoner had caught his interest, but he couldn't tell what exactly it was. Was it the prisoner's courage to speak his mind, or his pride? He wasn't sure. He made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

…

Back at their cabin, Gilbert demanded from Estonia, "Why didn't you help me fight against the guards?"

"I couldn't let them touch me. I was carrying a precious load on me," Estonia replied. A peculiar smile had appeared on his face. "In fact, you gave me quite an uncomfortable time when you accused the guards of stealing food and were so vehement about it."

"What do you mean?"

At the astonished looks of his fellow nations, Estonia produced several cans of meat and fish from under his jacket. In the general uproar that Gilbert had caused when he had run away from the cart, Estonia had stuffed his pockets with food from the provisions sacks. "This is how to do it."

Gilbert stared at him. "You thief." He wanted to say but bit it back as Estonia held out a can of fish to him. His mouth watered at the sight.

"Come on, take it," Estonia encouraged when he hesitated. "Don't look at me like that. Yes, I stole food; or rather, I took it from the guards so we wouldn't go hungry. So it's not really stealing. I've been in this camp longer than you have. Guess why I'm still around. I wish I wouldn't have to do it, but it is the only way to survive here."

Gilbert swallowed. Stolen or not, the canned herring was just the right thing to have after having missed supper. How delicious it would taste! He decided to adjust his views on what was right or wrong to the circumstances. He grabbed the can.

...

**So this was Gilbert's and Ivan's first meeting. They will meet again soon. **

**How did you like the chapter? Tell me what you think … Is there anything I should improve? **

**I'd like to thank all the readers who have reviewed the story so far for your ideas. They were really helpful. You don't know how much your opinion means to me! Thank you so much! :-)  
**


	4. Christmas in camp

_12-22-2012: I just felt in the mood to come up with something special for Christmas, so here it is: _

**4. Christmas in camp **

_Summary: For lack of real food, the nations make up their own imaginary Christmas feast. Gilbert shares one of Ludwig's recipes – or rather what he remembers of it … Enjoy! _

Rated T for toddler

The 24th of December had passed like any other day. The nations spent the day working in the snowy forest, felling trees. When the guard asked them to cut down a particularly beautiful spruce, Prussia shook his head, saying: "What a perfect Christmas tree it would make. It's a shame they have us make firewood of it." While he was chopping the tree into pieces, working only so much as to keep himself warm, his thoughts went wandering off to his home. Ludwig would be cooking dinner around this time of day, getting the last arrangements done for the Christmas feast that would mark the final highlight after four weeks spent baking cookies and decorating the house. In his thoughts, Prussia could see it all before him. He had always made fun of Ludwig for making such a fuss about the Christmas preparations, but now, in the absence of anything that reminded him of Christmas, he fully realized how much he had loved it. Suddenly feeling strangely angry, he struck his axe into the wood.

In the evening, still hungry after their usual scanty supper, the nations huddled together by the fireside in their cabin. Tightly wrapped in their blankets, they gazed into the flames. Tonight, the fire was burning brighter than usual because Lithuania had smuggled in an extra log of wood from the forest. While warming their hands and feet at the fireplace, their thoughts went meandering off to their homes, where the Christmas festivities were supposed to be in full swing.

"My brother always cooks a huge dinner on Christmas Eve," Prussia murmured randomly into the thought-laden silence. "Last Christmas, he made beef tenderloin with salad and lots of other stuff. It was delicious." He kept gazing into the flames, poking at the embers with a stick, not wanting the others to see how much he longed for a bit of Christmas atmosphere and, above all, a decent meal.

Gilbert was a little surprised when his remark seemed to have hit a nerve. "Tell us how he cooked it!" The others asked, looking at him expectantly. They were all eager to hear about a feast to satisfy their cravings for food. If they couldn't have their stomachs filled, their minds would have to fill in on the rest.

Gilbert wasn't one to be asked twice. Pleased about their interest, he willingly started to deliver what he remembered. "Well, last Christmas, the weather was beautiful and clear." He provided a little background to get himself in the mood. "It had snowed on Christmas Eve, and everything, including our house, was covered by a blanket of snow. Ludwig and I live in an old farmhouse. It looks lovely under all that snow, with the light shining from its windows. The largest room of the house is the kitchen. It has a huge old-fashioned oven at the center, which means it's always warm in there."

The nations nodded approvingly. This description was to their liking.

Prussia went on. "There are sausages and hams hanging in the chimney. Ludwig always keeps the kitchen very clean and tidy. During the weeks before Christmas, he decorates it nicely. He sets up candles and fir branches and straw stars. But the most reliable sign that it's Christmas is our huge Christmas tree." He paused at the memory.

The others had closed their eyes by now, shutting out any perceptions that would remind them of their still being in camp. Behind their closed eyelids, they could clearly picture the kitchen with the oven and the Christmas decorations. They could even feel the warmth that emanated from the oven.

Prussia resumed. "My brother would start to heat the oven in the morning, so it would reach the temperature needed to prepare the meat by evening. With the fire blazing, it was very warm in the kitchen. Ludwig had gotten a fine piece of beef tenderloin from the village's butcher the day before. That butcher is a master of his craft, the best there is around. You wouldn't find any better meat in the entire region. Very early in the morning, Ludwig would get up to prepare the meat. At first, he would pour a small amount of oil in a frying pan and set it on the stove."

"Oh, please have him put in twice the amount of oil for me, will you?" Estonia butted in.

"Why?"

"Because I like it. Please do me the favour."

"If you like it," Prussia generously accepted and continued, "He would pour plenty of oil in the pan and heat it until it was very hot. And by hot I mean very, very hot, but don't let the oil get too hot, because then it will catch fire." He vividly remembered the one time he had set the pan on fire when he had tried to cook. He could still hear Ludwig's terrified screams ringing in his ears. His brother had tried to ban him from the kitchen ever since. "When I say hot, I mean like sizzling hot," he specified. "If the oil starts to smoke, it's a sign that it's getting too hot. Then you must reduce the temperature, but don't let it drop too low either, because if the oil is not hot enough, the meat will get dry. You see, the right temperature is crucial," he emphasized, looking at the others to see if they had gotten the point.

The others nodded in understanding.

"When the oil was searing hot, Ludwig would put the beef in the pan. As soon as it touches the hot oil, it gets brown on the exterior, and a delicious flavor develops. You must turn the meat in the pan so that it gets brown on all sides. When the meat was coated by a fine crispy crust, Ludwig would add onions. They add a delicious flavor."

The nations inhaled. They could already smell the beef and the roasting onions.

"When the searing was done, Ludwig would add some sea salt and black pepper and reduce the temperature. He would roast the beef at a rather low temperature, with the lid closed. That way, its interior becomes very tender and juicy. He would let it simmer at boiling temperature. It takes very long to cook, like a couple of hours, but the meat will retain its moisture and produce more flavor."

Their mouths watered.

Now Gilbert needed to think for a second. What had Ludwig done next? He had added vegetables, but which ones? He had never been of much help to Ludwig, so he knew how the dish was prepared only from watching his brother cook it, but at this point, his memory was failing him. One time, Ludwig had explained to him how he prepared it in full detail, but what had stuck to his mind was what he had just explained. Not helping his brother or paying more attention to him was backfiring on him now.

"What's next? Add something to it, or it will burn," Latvia said when Prussia did not continue. He was impatient to hear more.

Gilbert had to make things up now. "Then he would add a couple of potatoes," he improvised. Ludwig never cooked a meal without potatoes.

"No, that can't be right," Bulgaria positively squirmed at the suggestion. The image that had formed in his mind was threatening to shatter at Prussia's erroneous cue. "You shouldn't cook potatoes with the meat. Unless you want to cook a stew, that is. They cloud the broth."

"He's right," Estonia said. "You must cook the potatoes separately, in an extra pot."

They were right. Ludwig had done exactly as Estonia had suggested. There had not only been a pan on the stove, but also a pot beside it, filled with potatoes. How could he have forgotten about that?

"Okay, so he would set a pot of potatoes on the stove, too," Prussia hastily corrected himself. But if it wasn't potatoes, what was it that Ludwig had added to the meat? "After that, Ludwig would add carrots," he said, bringing up the vegetable that first came to his mind besides potatoes.

The others nodded in approval.

Carrots. For how long hadn't he eaten carrots? Normally he didn't think about what he was missing out on, but now it struck him that he hadn't eaten a simple dish such as carrots in a long time.

"Could you have your brother add mushrooms for me?" Poland asked into the pause, saving Gilbert from further guessing.

"If you like. How many would you like me to put in?" Prussia asked.

"An entire basketful of them," Poland replied. "I always collect them in the forest during summer. I store them in a dark and dry place so I can feast on them at Christmas."

"Okay. So he would add lots of mushrooms to the beef and the onions," Prussia took up Poland's suggestion.

"Can I add something, too?" Latvia asked.

"Of course," Gilbert said, glad about another suggestion that saved him from improvising. What would you like to put in?"

"Celery," Latvia replied.

"Okay," Prussia said. "Lithuania, would you like to add anything, too?"

"Well, if you don't mind, I would like to add some leek," he answered.

"Okay, so you add celery and leek," Prussia said. "Which leaves us with the beef plus onions, carrots, mushrooms, celery and leek." He summarized.

The others nodded. In their imagination, they could already see the pan with the beef and the vegetables standing on the stove, giving off a delicious scent.

"Is there anything else you want to add?" Gilbert asked, trying to buy time.

The others shook their heads.

"Ludwig let it simmer for a couple of hours," Prussia resumed. He remembered that. But what had come next? "He would take it off the stove…" he said, frantically searching his memory for something to continue with. Suddenly he had an idea. "And then he added some spice to it!" he said, looking at the others triumphantly.

A little surprised at Prussia suddenly speeding up, the others looked expectantly up to him. They could do with some spice after the long weeks of bland food.

"If needed, he would add a pinch of salt and pepper," Prussia said slowly, starting to list up the spices he knew. "He also added a handful of finely chopped parsley and chives…" He continued, attentively watching the others' faces for their reactions. Judging by their expressions, they seemed to approve of the herbs he had mentioned. One more, and dinner would be ready. "And the last thing he added was several teaspoons of chili."

"No!" Latvia cried out in horror. "You're ruining the meal!" He shuddered at the thought.

"You're making this up!" Poland said indignantly.

"No, Ludwig did it that way. It's as I remember it," Prussia defended himself, not wanting to admit his mistake.

"Are you sure?" Bulgaria asked Prussia. "If you add so much chilli to it, it's bound to be far too hot."

"That sure is a strange way to cook," Estonia remarked, and the others nodded.

"Maybe he added just a tiny trace of chili," Lithuania suggested in an attempt to reconcile them.

"No, he added a couple of teaspoons of chili," Prussia stubbornly insisted. "And it was delicious."

"Well, I won't have any of it if there's so much chili in it," Estonia said as he got up. He had enough of the childish food fantasies they were indulging in.

"Who said I offered you any of it," Prussia said nastily.

Estonia withdrew to his bunk without saying a further word.

Prussia drew his blanket closer around himself and glowered into the flames. The mental picture of the Christmas feast had shattered into pieces.

Poland's imagination, however, seemed unperturbed by the argument. He nudged Gilbert in the side and asked, "I'd like to try it. Can I have some of it?"

Gilbert's expression brightened immediately. "Of course you can," he said, his usual self-satisfied smirk showing again. Shooting a gleeful sideways glance over to Estonia, he added generously, "I'll give you an extra large portion."

Poland closed his eyes. In his mind, he could see the plate full of steaming hot beef and mushrooms standing before him. His nostrils flared as he deeply inhaled the vapor to savor it to the fullest extent. "Achoo!" He sneezed.

Everyone, including Estonia and Prussia, broke out in laughter.

When Prussia lay in his bunk later that night, warm for once, with the sound of the north wind blowing around the cabin and the wolves howling in the forest mingling in his mind, his thoughts were directed at one place: Home. He fell asleep.

_A/N: This is basically a filler chapter, nothing much happens that drives the storyline forward. It only serves to show how much the nations miss food. I know it's childish, but it was fun writing! _

_I'm deviating from historical facts again: In a real camp, there would be more than six prisoners sharing a cabin, and they would fight for the warm seats near the oven. But they would talk about food, for hours on end. They would describe their favorite meals and exchange recipes, surpassing each other in the amounts of meat, butter, sugar and other high-caloric ingredients.  
_

_I wish everyone out there a happy Christmas! Enjoy your holidays and make sure to eat some decent food! :-)  
_


	5. New Year's Day

_I wrote this during the Christmas vacation, and it's been sitting in my laptop ever since. Sorry for the disorder! _

_This chapter is supposed to provide an insight into Gilbert's mindset. I wanted to finish the characterization before I start uploading the main part of the story. I hope I don't seem to be hammering it in … _

_..._

**5. New Year's Day**

Darkness hovered over the vast land, frequently cut through by icy, piercing gales that swept past the snow-covered hills, ferociously lashing out at everything that dared to stand in their way. All nature had sought shelter under the thick, protective blanket of snow and ice that covered the earth. There it lay slumbering, unaware of the turn of the year that had taken place only a couple of hours ago.

The only sign of life at this early hour of day was a handful of dark dots slowly moving across the hostile land, forlorn in a desert of white. The wind raged past them, furious at the trespassers who were so bold as to set foot in his realm. It blew its icy breath in their faces and tugged and tore at their clothes with frosty fingers.

Prussia braced himself against the wind as it nearly knocked him off his feet. He couldn't help but feel a grim admiration for the wind-shaken oak trees by the wayside. No matter how fiercely the wind whipped and bowed their gnarled branches, they clung fast to the earth with their strong, deep roots and thus prevented their uprooting. Heck, he even envied them for their inability to feel as he was, painfully aware of the hole in his stomach and the cold biting his fingers and toes.

Tightening the scarf around his mouth and nose, he set himself in motion again. Putting one foot before the other, sinking deep into the snow with each step, he struggled along the path that led to the forest. The other nations were trudging ahead of him, silent, muffled up in their woollen caps and scarves, lost in their own thoughts.

Gilbert found himself in a gloomy mood. Since his meeting with the commander, he had felt like a fool. All his struggling had resulted in nothing but bruises and ridicule. He still found it hard to accept that the commander had not believed him. His self-confidence and pride had suffered a severe blow that day, and it affected him more than he let on. Since then, he had sought refuge in contempt, scorning and despising everything related to the camp.

With such a negligent commander, Prussia thought with disdain, snow squishing under his shoes, it was not surprising that the camp was in such a desolate state. The lack of food, the cold, the dirt, the low morale of the guards… The list was long. He had tried to alert the commander to the poor conditions, but he didn't seem to care.

'_There's nothing you can do about it_,' Lithuania had tried to discourage him from his attempts at resistance. He could still hear Lithuania's voice in his mind, and the resignation in it repulsed him.

Despite what Lithuania had said, _he_ wouldn't be contented with being just a powerless prisoner, slaving away for a system that was corrupt. He wasn't made for such a low, quiet existence. In his element in unforeseen situations that demanded quick decisions, he felt distinctly out of place in camp where every day followed the same routine. Lately, life seemed nothing but an endless succession of work and sleep, of seeing the same sore faces and gray walls every day.

In an attempt at breaking the monotony, he had tried to provoke the guards to cause some excitement, but Estonia had told him off.

'_Life's bad enough as it is already, but if you go causing trouble, Braginski will make life hell for all of us. So keep your head down and steer clear of trouble_.'

Gilbert snorted as Estonia's voice seemed to be mocking him.

'_We'll have to wait until spring.'_

Prussia huffed. He was sick and tired of waiting. He wanted to do something now! Angrily, he kicked the snow. If he couldn't openly rebel against his imprisonment, he at least wanted to be an obstacle to the camp's system. Gilbert clenched his fists. If only the others would let him have his way, he would start attacking the commander's rule at once, and he wouldn't stop fighting before it was completely overthrown. Too bad he was stuck with a bunch of pessimist cowards that didn't see the brilliance of his plans—

He was ripped out of his thoughts when he slipped on a rock hidden under the snow and fell. Scrambling back to his feet, he brushed the snow off of his clothes and looked around, sobered. Here he was, he mused as he trudged on, just one of many insignificant prisoners, with nobody who recognized him for who he was.

His eyes travelled up the path ahead of him. In the eerie twilight, he could discern the silhouettes of his squad mates. There they were, bent shapes dragging themselves along through the deep snow.

Walking ahead and beating a path through the snow for the others was Estonia, the unquestioned leader of the group. He might not talk much, but his constant high output in work and his brains made him well-respected by both his fellow inmates and the guards. Unfortunately, he was opposed to Gilbert's views on resistance, making fun of him and his ideas.

A few steps behind Estonia, Lithuania and Poland were plodding along, side by side, supporting each other when one of them stumbled. Lithuania's low-key demeanor seemed to belie the fact that he was second in the group's hierarchy. Like Estonia, he was a quiet person, but unlike the former, he always had a sympathetic ear for the issues of his squad mates. With his patience and striving for harmony, he was quite popular with the group. Together with Poland, his Siamese twin, as Prussia liked to think of him, he formed a strong team. Wherever one of them showed up, the other wasn't far away.

The two were doing surprisingly well in camp, Gilbert grudgingly admitted to himself as he watched Lithuania holding out his hand to Poland and helping him across a snowdrift on the path. He hadn't expected them to be so enduring. What they lacked in physical strength, they made up with their mutual support for each other, Gilbert figured. Now that they had even managed to get the cleaning jobs and proved skilled at scavenging, they were indispensable to the group. Estonia never made a decision before asking their opinion on the matter first.

Sadly, neither Lithuania nor Poland took him seriously either. They got along, but the two were wary of him and his proposals, never losing their deep-rooted mistrust against him. Besides, it appeared to him that Lithuania lacked any hope of escape. Gilbert suspected that he had accepted his position as a prisoner and had settled into his miserable existence in camp, especially since he had gotten his cleaning job.

And yet he needed them. Where would he be if Lithuania and Poland didn't give him some of the food they seemingly miraculously were able to scavenge on their odd jobs around camp? He was long past the stage when he still had qualms about stealing, but he hated to depend on others; it was eating away his self-esteem.

Prussia's eyes wandered to the shortest shape of them all, Latvia, who was laboriously wading through the snow. As Latvia was susceptible to the influence of Estonia and Lithuania, he couldn't expect much support from him either, Gilbert figured, dispirited.

The sole fellow inmate left on his side was Bulgaria, Gilbert concluded as his glimpse fell on the thickly wrapped back of the small nation treading on the path directly before him. Bulgaria seemed to be his only friend out here; the only one who didn't routinely call his ideas into question, but was in fact able to cheer him up sometimes.

Whereas the miserable faces of the others weren't much to brighten up his spirits, Prussia mused, watching them labor along the path ahead of him, staggering with tiredness. They were all so wary, overcautious and anxious. He sharply felt he didn't fit in with them.

Snowflakes began to swirl through the air, sticking to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. The icy gales and the snow were stinging in his eyes, making them water. Damn, stupid wind! If the others saw him like this, they might think he was crying! Swiftly, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, but found that his tears had immediately flash-frozen in contact with the frigid air. He quickly glanced up to the others to see if they had noticed anything, but they were plodding along as before and didn't seem to pay him any attention.

He couldn't have hit rock bottom already, could he? He thought, shocked about his body's reaction. No, this was far too soon, it was impossible. He'd blame it on his empty stomach and the cold that in combination had temporarily slackened his self-control. Yes, that must be the reason, he decided, relieved as he trod on.

Almost bumping into Bulgaria as the squad suddenly came to a halt called him back to attention. The guard was giving them instructions, but Gilbert could only understand snatches of it, as the voice seemed to be ebbing and flowing in the howling wind. While listening, Prussia looked around to see that they had reached the edge of the forest.

The tall black silhouettes of the trees projected against a sky that had turned from black to dark gray. The opposite eastern sky was colored a lighter shade of gray tinged with blood red, and the dawn light mercilessly revealed the true expanse and barrenness of his surroundings.

Whether Gilbert turned his head north or south, a vast desolate landscape lay before him. Miles and miles of an inexorable land stretched out before his eyes, far up to the horizon, and probably for hundreds of miles beyond that, he supposed. Its bleakness seemed to suck all the air out of him. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Camp seemed a cozy place compared to its surroundings.

"Hey, you over there, don't fall asleep! Start working at once!"

Even the guard's angry shouting seemed friendly and familiar in comparison.

Gilbert walked over to the tree the guard had ordered him to fell. He had to stop himself from engaging in any such gloomy thoughts, he decided. They only made it worse. Standing beside the tree, he got his axe ready. Tightening his grip around the haft, he swung it up in the air and let a first strike crash down into the wood. Hearing the wood splinter under his blade gave him a grim satisfaction.

The next second, he had swung his axe up again.

He mustn't allow himself to be sentimental. He had to weed out any weaknesses that were left in him, any vulnerability, so he would endure until spring.  
Once again he let his axe drop down on the tree trunk where it left a deep incision.

He was bored and ready for a change of scenery? – He'd have to put up with it. This was only temporary, after all. He would get out in spring.  
Again his axe came swishing down.

He hated working in the forest? – Well, there were other jobs around camp. He would have to find out how to get assigned to a better job.

Thud! The blade cut into the wood, carving a notch into the tree.

He hated to depend on Lithuania and Poland sharing their food with him? – He would have to get some by himself!

Another blow of his axe. He had found a steady rhythm.

They wanted him to act all subdued and meek? – They would never get him to do that. He was the awesome Prussia, after all!

He let his axe slam down onto the tree. This time, it left a deep mark, but he swung it right up again.

The others didn't take him seriously? – He would make them recognize his awesomeness!

His axe struck the tree again as his movements became faster.

He didn't want to wait until spring? - He would have to find a way to speed up his escape. Meanwhile, he would have to put up with the others' unawesome company.

He raised his axe high up in the air and let it smash down onto the tree, dealing it a final blow. Swiftly stepping back, he heard the wood splinter and creak as the tree fell.

Gilbert stood and watched with satisfaction as the tree came crashing down onto the snowy forest ground. The exercise had warmed him up, and the snow and ice on his face was melting. In the spot where the tree had stood before, he could see the eastern sky which had turned bright red. The weather had cleared, and he could see the sun rise above the horizon, casting its rays out to him.

Loosening his scarf, he turned his dripping wet face towards the sun and bathed in its light, eyes closed. He could feel the rays of the sun tingling his skin, and a smile formed on his face. The sunrays might be feeble still, but they reminded him that the darkest time of winter was over. Starting on December 21st , he recalled, the days were beginning to get longer, and the sun would gain strength day by day and eventually break the spell of winter.

He dried his cheeks with his scarf and looked over to the others.  
Poland and Lithuania were cutting a tree trunk with a huge two-handed saw, engaged in the bickering that seemed to be an integral part of their friendship. Bulgaria and Estonia were chopping the smaller branches off of a tree trunk; Estonia with a serious face, while Bulgaria was trying to smile the cold away. Latvia was just standing there looking frozen, but when Estonia saw him, he beckoned him over to help them.

"Hey Latvia, you'll freeze if you don't do anything. Come over here, there's a lot of work to do." Prussia heard him call.

He watched as Latvia trudged over to the two, through the snow that was glistening in the early morning light.

Maybe they weren't such bad company after all, Gilbert decided as he walked over to join them.

...

_A/N: _

_Sorry if this seems overly depressing. Gilbert has reached a low point here__, but _he'll get better. :)  



	6. The Plan

**Enjoy!  
**

**...  
**

**6. The plan**

Later that day, when Prussia lay on his bunk at night, he had the idea that he should write to his brother. Inmates were not allowed to send letters, so Germany might not even know where he was and what was going on in the camp. If Ludwig knew about his situation, he would do everything in his power to help him get out; that was certain; but how should he post a letter?

He couldn't send it via the camp's mail, as it was bound to be opened for inspection and then found out. There had to be another way. He remembered that he had sometimes seen civilians on a road near the forest where he and the other detainees were cutting lumber. If he could hand the letter to a civilian and ask them to post it for him, there was a chance that it might actually reach his brother. He would have to smuggle the letter through the camp's guard post when they left camp for work in the morning. While at work, he would have to escape the guard's attention and, as soon as he would see a civilian approaching on the road, secretly and quietly separate himself from the group and sneak away. He would have to walk the several hundred yards' distance to the road unseen and ask a passer-by to post the letter for him.

Yes, that was what he would do. He was already feeling excited about his plan, confidently smiling to himself at the thought of it being successful. However, at first he would have to get hold of some writing paper and a pen. He frowned; how would he achieve that? He didn't have access to the office building. He would have to ask someone who worked there to get him the items he needed. So who could he ask? The only people who came to his mind were Poland and Lithuania, these two being the only ones in their group to have access to the office building when they were cleaning there.

"Hey, Poland," he whispered towards the person in the bunk next to him. "Are you still awake?"

"What is it, Prussia? I'm awake now," the fellow nation replied from his bunk.

"Could you get me some paper and a pen from the office building? You're working there tomorrow, aren't you?" He asked.

"What do you want it for?" Poland asked back, curious.

"I'll tell you tomorrow when you give me the items."

"And why should I do that for you?" Poland asked. "If there's nothing in it for me, forget it." He turned away to go to sleep again.

"No, Poland, wait!" Prussia whispered loudly.

This woke Lithuania up, too. "What are you talking about?" He demanded in a hushed voice.

"I just asked your friend to get me some paper and a pen from the office building."

"Yeah, but he doesn't say what he wants it for," Poland retorted. "And as there's nothing in it for us, I declined."

"You didn't hear me out. There's something in it for you as well," Prussia announced. He had to reveal his plan now in order to point out the opportunities it offered. "I'm going to write a letter to my brother, telling him where we are and how crappy the food is and so on. He will get us out of here."

"And how do we know that he won't help only you, but us, too?" Poland said doubtingly.

"My brother is friends with America now. He'll tell him about our situation, and he'll help you, too. If this camp is liberated, all of us will be free," Prussia tried to convince him.

"We want to have a say in what you write in the letter. We'll be writing it together," Lithuania demanded.

"So you're accepting the deal? You'll get me a pen and some paper, right?" Prussia asked back, thrilled at the success of the deal.

"I won't promise anything, it's not that easy to get hold of anything in the offices, but we'll do our best."

"That's great, man. Thank you," Prussia said, happy and excited about the first step of his plan about to be carried out. He could hardly wait for the next day …

...

When Prussia returned from the forest the following evening, he was eager to meet Poland and Lithuania in the cabin. When he greeted them, his eyes demanded only one thing. _Were you successful?_

The two nodded inconspicuously, Lithuania saying, "After supper."

So he waited until after their meal. When Bulgaria, Latvia and Estonia were occupied getting rid of bugs from their bunks, the three of them gathered around the table under the lamp. Poland produced a pen and an envelope from his pockets, while Lithuania pulled out a sheet of paper and stamps from under his clothes.

"You two are so cool! This is even more than I asked for," Prussia could not hide his excitement and joy at the sight of the items he required to make his plan come true.

"Well, I thought putting the letter in an envelope and sticking stamps to it would increase the chances of it actually reaching Germany," Lithuania replied modestly, blushing a little at being praised.

"OK, but what do we write?" Poland asked, staring at the blank sheet of paper.

"Hmmm, let's think," Prussia thought out loud. "What about: 'Hey bro! How are you? This is the awesome me writing. I'm in a camp in Siberia right now. It's cold and the food is crappy, but I'm fine …"

"Oh no, stop it," Lithuania interrupted him. "Why would you want to write that you're fine here when you're not? That way, your brother will not know that you need his help. And, where do _we_ figure? We should rather write: 'Dear Germany! How are you? This is Poland, Lithuania and your brother writing. We are imprisoned in a Communist work camp in Russia right now. The conditions here couldn't be worse: It is extremely cold, and we don't get enough to eat. The work is very hard. We are writing to you in the hope that you will send us help. We would also be very pleased if you could inform your friend America about our miserable situation. Thank you in advance. Yours sincerely, Poland, Lithuania, Prussia.'"

Gilbert's face had dropped. "'Our miserable situation …'" He echoed, writhing with embarrassment. "No way am I going to write this. That sounds completely lame and like I was begging my brother for help. Ludwig will think I'm complaining. I can't complain to my brother," he objected, looking at Poland for support.

"I don't think that's complaining, it's actually the truth," Poland said in defence of Lithuania's proposal. "We should also mention that the guards and officers are mean to us and that there is absolutely no privacy in the cabins; and that our clothes are really ugly and have large holes in them."

"Yeah." Realizing that he had no chance against the two, Prussia jumped in on Poland's train of thought, pushing it to the limit now. "Let's also tell him that the bread consists of sawdust and that the fleas in our bunks have died from the cold so that we are left with lice only." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, wait!" He added sarcastically, "I think we've forgotten to mention that this camp seems to be in the middle of nowhere, with no trace of beer in a radius of 100 miles around, and that this lousy scrooge Russia doesn't even give us one drop of his vodka. A fine Alcoholics Anonymous camp this would make …" He sneered.

"We can't mention every detail, we've only got one sheet of paper," Lithuania cut off Prussia's ramblings, frowning at the other nations' suggestions. These two were about to give him a headache if they continued like this. There was a little pause, then Poland suggested, "Why don't we ask the others, too?"

"You mean we should let them in on the plan?" Lithuania asked.

"Yes, exactly. The more signatures we put under the letter, the more reason for Germany to actually do something about it. You see, if it's just the three of us signing the letter, Germany might not take it seriously. But if he finds six names written under it, he has to do something," Poland explained his idea.

"It doesn't matter how many nations sign the letter. As long as my name is on it, my brother will do anything," Prussia defended his brother.

"But you wouldn't mind the others signing the letter, too?" Lithuania asked him.

"No, I'm fine with that," Gilbert replied. He trusted the other nations no less than Lithuania and Poland.

Bulgaria was walking across the room to the table. "Hey, what are you three acting so secretively about?" He asked. "Why don't you join us catching bugs? I've already killed fifty of them." He noticed the paper and the other items on the table and his expression became curious.

Before he could say any more, Lithuania said, "We were just about to talk to you and the others about a plan that Gilbert came up with." He turned towards the bunks and called out to the other two nations, "Hey, Latvia and Estonia! Could you come over here for a second, please?"

"What's up?" Latvia asked curiously. He let out an amazed squeak at the sight of all the forbidden items on the table. "Oh my God, where did you get all that stuff?" he asked.

When he and Estonia had gathered around the table, Lithuania started to explain. "Gilbert had the idea that we should write to his brother and ask him for help. Would you like to put your names on the letter, too?"

"Well, that depends on how exactly you are going to post the letter." Estonia said and inquired about the details. Prussia explained his plan to his fellow inmates.

By the end of the day, the six had agreed on more or less Lithuania's version of the letter, and all of them had signed it. Only Estonia had had doubts about the plan at first. "What if we get caught? The letter has our names on it. We risk being severely punished."

"No risk, no fun!" Prussia had said.

The others had finally been able to dissipate Estonia's worries. The group had also agreed on a plan on how to get the letter out of the camp. Estonia was to smuggle the letter through the guard post because he was the one the guards considered most reliable, which is why they never searched him more than superficially. In a quiet unseen moment he then had to pass the letter on to either Latvia or Lithuania, who were chosen to approach a civilian and hand them the letter.

Latvia was selected because he could speak Russian best of them all, plus he was young and cute and would evoke sympathy with the Russian civilians, or so they hoped. Lithuania was to accompany him because he was a reliable person who would make sure that Latvia wouldn't get lost, and he was considered careful enough to stop him from doing anything rash. The others would do their best to keep the guard's attention away from Latvia and Lithuania so they could sneak out and return undetected.


	7. The Plan is Carried Out

**7. The plan is carried out**

The next morning, the six nations lined up at the guard post, attempting to look innocent. They watched anxiously as Estonia was being searched. The guard had searched him many times and never found anything, and so, over time, he had come to trust him. After a short, superficial check, he let him pass. On their march to the forest, they were closely watched by another guard, but as soon as they had started their work, he was occupied and it was easy for Estonia to pass the letter to Latvia.

Their first job that morning was one where all of six of them had to work together chopping wood. With the guard standing close by to watch them, there was no chance of the two of them leaving unnoticed. After lunch, however, the guard asked them to collect small firewood, each of them in a different area of the forest. This was their chance, they thought, secretly exchanging meaningful looks. The guard could only supervise one or two of them at a time, the others would be out of his sight in the meantime.

Latvia and Lithuania seized their chance instantly. As soon as the guard had left them to look for the others, they crossed the forest up to a point from where they could observe the road; but the road was empty. They waited for a while, but there was no sign of a civilian anywhere near. As they didn't dare to stay away from their assigned forest areas for too long, they eventually walked back.

They had returned just in time. The guard was walking towards Latvia's basket, which was still empty as he hadn't had time to collect wood. "You lazy brat!" The guard shouted as he noticed that this young prisoner hadn't done any work during his absence. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find any loose wood around here," Latvia replied, trembling with fear.

"And what's this?" The guard pointed out several pieces of wood that were lying on the ground. "Start working at once, or I'll report you to my superior," he bellowed and watched as Latvia hurriedly started picking up the wood. He continued to watch Latvia for a while. Seeing him contrite and work in such a hurry, he was satisfied and after a while passed on to check on his next prisoner, which was Lithuania.

He found Lithuania working and his basket partly filled, so he didn't bother watching him for long but continued his patrol tour.

As soon as the guard was out of sight, Lithuania walked over to Latvia. Together, they made their way to the road for a second time, hoping they would meet a civilian this time. Standing in the shadow of the forest, they watched the road for any sign of life, but again, there was nothing. They gazed into the void, their hearts sinking as the minutes passed.

Just as they were about to return, Latvia saw a movement on the horizon. "Hey, Liet," he whispered to his companion. "There's something on the road."

Lithuania watched in the direction which Latvia pointed out to him. In the distance he could make out a dark shape on the road, moving towards them.

...

Meanwhile, the guard had proceeded to check on the next prisoner on his round, which was Estonia. He knew him as an experienced and trustworthy, hard-working prisoner, able to get done twice the work than certain other nations did. He appreciated his silent and serious personality and the fact that he, unlike other nations, never complained. Sometimes he even consulted him on how to best organize their work. This was a candidate for the post of foreman, he thought. "How are you getting on?" He inquired as he checked Estonia's basket. As he had expected, it was almost full.

"I'm nearly done clearing this part of the forest," Estonia replied. "I was thinking about where to go on with the work. I thought maybe I could clear the area to the left of the road across the brook, where the large birch trees grow. There's bound to be lots of loose wood lying around, more than here with all the pines." He was trying to engage the guard in a conversation.

As the guard had spent only little time watching Lithuania, he thought it was safe to spend some of his time talking to the prisoner he respected most of them all. He often came up with reasonable suggestions on how to proceed best about their work. He listened while Estonia explained in full detail his ideas on where and how to pick up the largest quantities of firewood with the smallest effort possible. Did it only seem so to him, or was this prisoner unusually talkative today?

As the nation's explanations seemed to continue forever, he finally cut him off. "It's okay with me. It sounds like a fairly reasonable plan, just as I expected from you. You can carry it out as you described it to me. Take your basket and come with me to get the horse cart." He walked on towards the place where he had parked the cart and the horse, which was close to the areas where Prussia and Bulgaria were collecting firewood.

Estonia followed him at a slower pace, carrying his now full and heavy basket. As they came closer to the horse cart, they met Prussia and Bulgaria who were just about to empty the contents of their baskets into the cart. When the guard was occupied for a second, Prussia whispered to Estonia, "Latvia hasn't returned yet. Poland told me. It's time to put our plan in action."

Estonia nodded in understanding. He knew what they had to do now. After Estonia had emptied his basket into the cart as well, the guard instructed him. "Take the horse cart and these two men with you and go to the area of the forest that you described to me earlier, where the birch trees grow. Go fetch more firewood there."

Estonia seized the horse by the bridle and the group started to walk in the given direction. The guard watched them walk away for a while and eventually turned around to go and look after Poland. He had not reached Poland yet when he heard the excited voices and screams of Estonia, Prussia and Bulgaria calling for him from the distance. "Officer! Please, could you come over here, sir?" He stopped and looked back. What had happened?

...

"It's someone on a bicycle," Lithuania said as the silhouette approached closer and he could see more clearly.

"This is our chance," Latvia cried out, all excited. "Let's get to the road. Come on, Liet!"

Lithuania hesitated for a second. They had been away from the forest for a long while now. It was high time for them to return, as the guard was about to appear any minute now. But hadn't the others agreed to keep the guard occupied? Who knew when or whether there would be a next chance. "Let's hope the others will keep the guard busy," he said as he followed Latvia.

...

At the excited calls of the three prisoners demanding for him, the guard walked all the way back and found them standing around the horse cart, the horse cart being stuck in a brook.

"We tried to cross the brook, but the horse couldn't pull the cart up the other bank. We tried to make it go, but it wouldn't move." They described what had happened, looking expectantly at the guard, waiting for him to decide what to do.

"You idiots!" The guard scolded. "Why didn't you cross the brook at a more suitable place, where the banks are less steep?" He demanded, angry at the prisoners for causing him such trouble as soon as he left them a bit of responsibility.

"The banks are steep everywhere around here," Estonia replied, trying his best to look innocent.

The guard looked around to see that he was right. He was angry at himself now, as it had been him who had ordered them to take the horse cart to a part of the forest for which they had to cross the brook. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to help the horse pull the cart up," he said, frowning at the unexpected stupidity committed under the lead of his favorite prisoner. He instructed them how to pull the cart out of the brook. Weren't they able to handle this situation on their own? He wondered as he watched them pull. Why did they have to call him at the smallest difficulty? It had to be the result of the continued slave work, which took every responsibility away from them, he mused. It must have made them lose the ability to think for themselves and act of their own initiative, or was the poor nutrition beginning to affect their brains?

He watched the three nations pushing and pulling the cart for a while. Seeing their continued efforts were unsuccessful, the cart still being stuck in the brook, he decided he had no choice but to help them. "You're not pulling hard enough," he declared. "Let me help you. I'll show you how it's done properly." He stepped down into the brook and took up the cart's shaft. "On the count of three," he commanded. "Three, two, one, go!" He started pulling, being helped by Bulgaria and Prussia pulling from the sides and Estonia pushing from beneath. He pulled very hard, as the drag was indeed very strong, until Crack! The noise of wood breaking and the cart suddenly moving easily made him stop abruptly.

"Stop!" He shouted terrified as he let go of the shaft. He inspected the cart. "The axle is broken!" He exclaimed, exasperated.

What do I do now? He thought, looking at the three prisoners who were standing leaning against nearby trees, watching him. He wasn't carrying any tools with him to repair the cart, and he couldn't send one of his prisoners to fetch some from the camp, as he was not allowed to let them walk the several miles unguarded. "We will have to leave the cart here until tomorrow," he finally decided. "But unleash the horse from the cart."

He watched the three prisoners lead the horse away from the brook and tie it to a nearby tree. "Just continue to collect wood and pile it up in a heap on the ground. We'll pick it up tomorrow," he instructed them before he set out on his way to Poland. He has been unguarded far too long now, the guard thought with concern, increasing his pace.

...

Latvia and Lithuania were standing by the side of the road, waiting for the bicyclist to arrive. As the silhouette approached, they could see that it was a young woman.

This is perfect, Lithuania thought. A single person was much more likely to accept and actually post the letter. If it had been two or more people, chances would have been high that they would not accept the letter in front of another person witnessing it, as it was considered a crime in Russia to accept or even post letters from prisoners. The fact that it was a woman also got Lithuania's hopes up: Latvia might evoke motherly feelings in a woman, young and cute as he was.

Lithuania and Latvia both started waving now. The woman had nearly reached them. "Excuse me, could you spare a second?" Latvia inquired politely. The woman stopped, scrutinizing them with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

She must be afraid of us, Lithuania mused. It's not surprising though, considering we are mere skeletons wearing dirty prisoner's clothes. We must look like scarecrows to her, certainly not very trustworthy, he contemplated, suddenly feeling self-conscious and a little ashamed at the sight of the pretty and clean girl.

"We'd like to ask you a favor. Could you please send this letter for us?" Latvia put forward his request, holding out the letter to the young woman while smiling his nicest and most heart-warming smile that he could muster.

Lithuania watched the young woman attentively, worries forming in his head. How would she react? What if she rejected their request? What if she threatened to call the police?

...

The guard found Poland calmly collecting wood as he was supposed to, seemingly sunken in his own world, unaffected by the events with the horse cart. Poland collecting firewood gave a very peaceful and serene picture, and if he had been picking flowers instead of wood, he could have mistaken him for Little Red Riding Hood, the guard thought to himself. Relieved that everything seemed normal, he reduced his speed, asking, "How are you getting on with your work? Is everything OK around here?" as he had reached the blonde nation. He had taken a liking to the Eastern European nation who often surprised him with his special way of looking at things from a different perspective.

"I think I've just seen a wolf," Poland answered.

"What?!" The guard asked, completely taken aback.

"I said I saw a wolf just a few minutes ago. It was looking at me from underneath the pines over there," Poland elaborated, totally unaffected by the implications of what he had said, calmly continuing to collect wood.

The guard cast a glance at the trees that Poland had pointed out. He couldn't see anything. "Are you sure it was a wolf?" He asked. "Couldn't it have been a deer?"

"It was a wolf, I'm certain of it. It was about the size of a large dog, with shaggy gray hair, pointed ears and a pointed muzzle. It looked at me with dark gleaming eyes from under the shrubbery," Poland explained his vision in detail.

Was this guy just imagining things, or was there really some kind of creature lurking in the undergrowth, the guard wondered. Wolves were not uncommon in Russia, but usually, they kept their distance to humans; but then again, this camp was in the middle of nowhere …

"Are you not afraid?" he asked Poland, who seemed completely unbothered at the thought of a wolf lying in wait in the bushes near him.

"No, not at all," the prisoner answered open-heartedly, faithfully looking him in the eyes. "Beasts such as wolves can't do me any harm since I'm wearing a lucky charm that my mother gave me," he said, pulling a pendant that contained a picture of Mary, Mother of God out from under his shirt. "It protects me against all evil."

The guard was unconvinced. "How can you be so superstitious to believe in such objects?" The guard himself was atheist and shook his head at the supposed naïvety of his prisoner. He decided to search the shrubbery for any living thing, just to make sure. _It might be a deer_, he thought. "Throw some pieces of wood to the spot where you saw the wolf," he instructed Poland, while he himself seized his gun and cocked it.

The guard was standing next to Poland, aiming his gun at the bushes where the wolf was supposed to lie in waiting. He heard log after log land on the forest ground, but nothing stirred. "Okay, you can stop throwing now," he finally told Poland. "Get yourself a stick instead and try to rouse any animal that might sit in these bushes."

Poland picked up a long piece of wood and slashed a path through the dense undergrowth, beating down twigs and branches with his stick, followed by the guard with his gun at the ready. After some time spent combing the forest without finding anything, the guard sent Poland back to work. It must have been one of Poland's funny ideas, he concluded as he continued on his round to check for Latvia. When he had arrived at Latvia's designated area, he looked around. Latvia was nowhere to be seen.

...

The girl looked around to check if somebody was around to witness the situation, then quickly snatched the letter and, without saying a word, she rode on. Latvia and Lithuania looked after her. "It seems she doesn't want to spend more time than absolutely necessary with the likes of us," Lithuania conjectured. "It's not surprising though, considering how we look." Both looked at each other, trying to see each other from the perspective of a stranger, noticing the ragged clothes and worn out looks. They laughed, shaking off their embarrassment.

"If you were the girl, would you trust me?" Latvia asked all of a sudden. He had stopped laughing.

"Yes! Of course I would," Lithuania answered, a little too fast.

"I don't believe you," Latvia said flatly. He knew that Lithuania was too kind to say what he really thought.

Lithuania didn't reply to that. Instead, he asked, "How about you? Would you trust me if you were, say, a local farmer, not rich but not poor either, from a respected family, who has a wife and children at home, and walked across me on your way to town?"

Latvia chuckled at the thought. "No," he said decidedly, shaking his head. His eyes wandered over Lithuania's longish and unkempt hair, over his hollow and pale face to his dirty and shabby jacket. "In fact, I wouldn't let you get near my children."

Both laughed. They followed the girl with their eyes until she had reached a turn of the road and went out of sight. At least she hadn't thrown the letter away. They turned around and hurried back to the forest, hoping their missing had not been discovered yet.

...

Fear surged through the guard when he couldn't find Latvia. Had Poland's story about the wolf not been a fib after all? As he walked through the forest, desperately searching for a trace of his youngest prisoner, he remembered the tales his grandmother had told him by the fireside when he was a little child. He was beginning to feel scared in earnest. Could it be that Latvia had fallen prey to a wolf?

The relief he felt when he saw the small figure of Latvia appearing from underneath some thick underbrush was immense. "There you are! Where have you been?" he asked, glad at the sight of the prisoner he had almost deemed lost.

"Can't I take a little break now and then? I needed to pee," Latvia answered in defence.

So it was only that, the guard thought, feeling rather stupid about himself now and embarrassed about being creeped out so easily. Not wanting Latvia to notice his relief, he straightened himself up and changed to a strict tone of voice. "Why is your basket still half empty?" He addressed Latvia's insufficient work.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but there really is not much firewood to be found around here," Latvia apologized, squirming with uneasiness at the guard's harsh tone.

"I want you to work harder. The next time I check on you, I want this basket to be full. Do you understand?" At Latvia's contrite nod, the guard left for the last prisoner on his patrol round, Lithuania. He, too, had not managed to fill his basket. Maybe it was true after all that firewood was scarce in this area of the forest, the guard thought to himself as he gave Lithuania the same instructions that he had given Latvia.

As soon as the guard had left him, Latvia walked over to Poland and gave him thumbs up, smiling triumphantly. Poland passed the message on to Prussia. He signaled the success of their undertaking to Bulgaria, who in turn informed the last one in their signaling chain, Estonia.

...

The woman on the bicycle had continued to ride along the road, the letter hidden in her handbag, thinking about what to do with it. The people in the camp were criminals, she knew that very well, as the Russian authorities had distributed leaflets among the few local civilian residents that informed them about the camp, warning the citizens about its inmates. By posting the letter, she might help those two convicts accomplish some sort of crime or illegal doing, she thought. Also, if she was found out carrying the letter in her bag, she would be severely punished for collaborating with criminals. In that case, she would go to prison herself. She shuddered at the thought. The inmates she had seen had looked dirty and ragged, barely skin and bones, and she didn't want to end up like them. What was to become of her family if she should be sentenced to serve time in prison? Not to mention the disgrace her imprisonment would mean for her family. She hesitated as she came closer to the camp's entrance gate.

...

While under supervision on their way back to camp, the six nations had suppressed their feelings of achievement as best they could, but as soon as they had closed the door of their cabin behind them, they burst out in triumphant laughter.

"Give me a high-five," Bulgaria called out to Prussia, their hands meeting up in the air in triumph about the success of their plan.

"We made it!" Prussia exclaimed happily.

"Yeah, we made it, we made it!" Latvia joined in the chant, jumping up and down.

"You should have seen the guard's face at the horse cart being stuck," Prussia relived the events of the day, turned to Lithuania, Latvia and Poland.

"Oh yes, and how we blocked the wheel so it would break," Bulgaria added, explaining to the three nations what they had done to buy time.

"This stupid camp will be liberated by my brother's troops in no time. Just you wait and see!" Prussia boasted optimistically.

"Your brother? No, we can't wait for him to finally decide to act. Isn't he still weakened from the war?" Poland crossed his arms before his chest in opposition. "I rather put my faith in America. He is a lot stronger than your brother and much quicker to act. He will not only liberate us from this camp, but also kick Russia's ass for treating us so badly," he said gleefully, feeling immense satisfaction at the thought of Russia being defeated and getting what he deserved.

"You forget that I'm here, so my brother will act instantly after reading the letter," Prussia reminded him.

"Oh wait, aren't you the older of the two of you?" Bulgaria asked Prussia teasingly. "Shouldn't it be the older brother saving his younger brother, instead of the other way round?"

Prussia however was too happy to be bothered by such remarks. The thought of being free again fueled his mind, and he was engaged in imagining what he would do then. "When I'm free, the first thing I'll do is eat loads of Königsberger Klopse and beer. Then I'll take a hot bath and sleep in a real bed again, with clean sheets and warm bedclothes," he let his mind run free.

"Don't crow too soon!" Estonia warned them. "The letter has yet to reach Germany, and that's a long way to go," he tried to control their spirits, but without much success. Supper and the rest of the evening were passed in blissful happiness, the inmates for once forgetting about their daily worries.

...

**A/N:  
**

**Do you already have an idea how the girl will decide? It will be revealed in the next chapter!  
**


	8. Setback

**8. Setback **

What should she do with the letter? The young woman wondered, getting increasingly nervous as she drew nearer to the camp's entrance gate. The only way to post a letter was to throw it in the mailbox in the village's marketplace, but chances were high that she would run into a friend or acquaintance there, as it was just a small village where everybody knew one another. If they saw her post a letter, they would ask who it was for, and she would have to lie about it and she wasn't good at lying at all. Even now, she felt as if everybody could see that she was hiding something. She knew that when the postman emptied the mailbox in the evening, he would check the mail and report any suspicious letters to the police. A letter to Germany would certainly raise suspicions. They would want to find out who had posted it. There would be questions. And if somebody had seen her, she would be in for it. It all boiled down to one thing: she couldn't post the letter. It was too dangerous. She shouldn't have accepted it in the first place. She even felt something like anger towards the prisoners for getting her into this predicament. The letter in her handbag seemed to her like dynamite, burning hot and ready to explode as soon as she would meet other people. She had to get rid of it as fast as she could.

At the entrance gate to the camp, she stopped and walked over to the porter's lodge. Handing the letter to the gatekeeper, she said, "I was given this by two people further down the road. I believe they were prisoners. Can I leave the letter with you?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you." The guard smiled at her. "We are always pleased about civilians who watch out and support the security in our country by reporting any suspicious proceedings." He said, looking over the letter she had given him. "We'll investigate the case. We are sorry if our prisoners have caused any inconvenience to you. Would you like to file a charge, so that the prisoners responsible will be punished?"

"Oh no, thank you. That won't be necessary." The young woman left, relieved about having passed the letter on. She felt as if a heavy weight had suddenly been lifted from her. She had done the right thing, she told herself. She would not get involved in anything illegal.

…

The gatekeeper informed his supervisor about the letter, who deemed the case important enough to consult his superior. Thus, the letter was passed on up the camp's hierarchy until, by evening, it had reached the commander's desk.

'To _Ludwig Beilschmidt. Germany,_' he read the address on the envelope as he opened and unfolded it.

'_Dear Germany! _

_How are you? This is Poland, Lithuania, Bulgaria,  
Latvia, Estonia and your brother writing.  
We are imprisoned in a work camp in Siberia.  
The conditions here couldn't be worse:  
It is extremely cold and we are starving.  
The work is very hard. We are writing to you  
in the hope that you will send us help  
so that we can get out of here.  
We would also be very pleased  
if you could inform your friend America  
about our situation.  
Thank you in advance. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Poland, Lithuania, Estonia,  
Latvia, Bulgaria, Gilbert. _

_P.S.: I count on you, bruder!_'

The everlasting smile on Russia's face faltered at the evidence of six nations somehow having managed to establish contact with a civilian, despite this being strictly forbidden. This had been close; had the woman not turned in the letter, it might even have reached Germany. He felt strong discomfort at the thought of the nations scheming and plotting against him, preparing for a plan to escape from his camp. He would not tolerate that. He would find out who of them had initiated the plan and who of them had approached the woman. They would be punished according to the camp's rules. Determined to solve the case, he called his secretary.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please find out who guarded the prisoners Prussia, Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland today. Tell him to see me in my office asap."

A little while later, the guard that had supervised the six nations in the forest showed up. "You called for me, Commander?"

Russia presented him the letter. "A civilian was given this letter in the afternoon. Please read and explain how this could happen."

As the guard read the letter, his expression became consternated. So one of the nations he had supervised that day had managed to leave the forest and talk to a civilian? He rummaged his memory, trying to find out who it could have been. Certainly not Estonia. He had talked to him for a long time, and he could not have accomplished so much work if he had left for the road. What about Bulgaria, Prussia, Poland? Maybe. They might have found a way to leave the forest, but then again, they had collected large quantities of wood, too. It was Latvia and Lithuania who had both been unguarded for the longest time. Out of the two, it was Latvia who had hardly gotten any work done. He remembered that Latvia's basket had still been empty when he had checked on him. It must have been him. "Sir, I'm sorry this happened. I had the prisoners collect firewood in different parts of the forest and walked from one to the other to supervise them. In between, they were unguarded. One of them must have walked to the road while I was away."

"Who could it have been?" The commander asked.

"I think it was Latvia."

…

The six nations had just gone to sleep when they heard a loud knock on the door of their cabin, followed by a guard entering. "Latvia!" He called out.

Latvia stuck his head out of his bunk. "That's me. What is it?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear at the late disturbance. Such a thing had never happened before.

"You are to report at the commander's office immediately. Get up and come with me," the guard demanded.

Latvia followed him slowly, his eyes cast down and not looking at his fellow inmates as he left. Everyone fully knew that this didn't bode well. They anxiously watched Latvia and the guard disappear in the darkness outside.

"They must have found out about the letter. That was fast!" Bulgaria broke the tense silence.

"They're going to interrogate him," Estonia said, concerned about his young Baltic neighbor. "It seems the guard in the forest did notice something after all."

Several hours later into the night, they were again disrupted by a loud rap on their door. This time it was Lithuania they called for.

"This is bad!" Estonia whispered in terror as soon as the guard was out of hearing distance. "Latvia must have given away Lithuania's name during the interrogation. Who knows what they did to him to make him speak!" He feared for the worst.

…

Neither Latvia nor Lithuania returned to their cabin that night. The next morning, the four remaining nations were summoned to a disciplinary hearing where a watch officer tore the letter into pieces in front of their eyes and sentenced them to receive only half of their usual bread rations for an entire week. Prussia was even sentenced to ten days of reduced rations because it was his brother they had written to. Aside from that, they found out that Latvia and Lithuania had been consigned to solitary confinement.

The usually so calm Estonia was visibly upset at the news. Prussia had never seen him in such a state. When he asked Estonia about it, he replied, "You don't know what solitary confinement means. They might not stand it for long." Estonia spent the day deep in thoughts, thinking about what could be done to help the two.

In the evening, when the four nations were sitting in their cabin, hungry because of their reduced meal sizes, Estonia came up with what he had contrived. "Listen, I have a plan to get Latvia and Lithuania out of solitary confinement."

The other three turned their heads questioningly.

"One person in solitary confinement is better than two people in it," Estonia began to explain his idea. "My plan involves one of us claiming that it was him who gave the girl the letter, so that Latvia and Lithuania will both be released in return. I was thinking of you, Prussia." He turned to Gilbert who stared back at him.

"Why me?" Prussia asked defiantly. He certainly wasn't eager to experience solitary confinement. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I've thought about it the entire day, and I think you are most fit for it because you are still the strongest of us, as you have spent less time in camp than any of us. Every one of us, including me, is weaker than you. You would survive solitary confinement for longer than any of us," Estonia explained the reasons for his choice. "You are made of sterner stuff than Latvia or Lithuania, and don't forget that I spent lots of time talking to the guard in the forest, so he knows it can't have been me who gave the letter to the girl."

Prussia considered it. Even though he did not like Estonia's plans for him, he was flattered that Estonia thought he was the strongest of them all. He had to admit that Estonia's plan seemed fairly reasonable; if he took on full responsibility for the letter himself, Latvia and Lithuania surely would be released in exchange for him. He had been out of the guard's sight long enough to have been able to walk to the road and hand the girl the letter but he was not that selfless. He hesitated.

"Please think about it," Estonia urged him before dropping the subject for the night.


	9. Solitary Confinement I

**9. Solitary Confinement I  
**

_Prussia's note:_

_Hey folks, it's me again. It turned out that Anna liked my introduction, so she asked me to write another part of the story from my point of view. Generous as I am, I instantly said yes, not knowing it would be _this _part. But I promised, and I won't go back on my word. So, here it is:  
_

The next day, Estonia asked me, "Have you made your decision? Will you do it?" Before I could reply, he urged, "It's our only chance. We'll come up with a plan to get you out."

I knew I could trust him to do anything in his power to ensure that I would survive.

After work, a guard called out, "Prisoner Beilschmidt! You are to report at the commander's office!"

They had pressed Latvia or Lithuania into mentioning my name, I assumed. I went, knowing that I was in for it anyway, so I might as well take all the responsibility, hoping that Estonia would keep his word.

As I knocked on the door to the commander's office, I was called in instantly. "Are you prisoner Beilschmidt? Stand over there!" I was commanded to stand beneath the bright light in front of the commander's wide desk, Braginski sitting opposite me in his large executive armchair, a half-empty bottle of vodka standing on the desk before him. Next to him was the guard who had supervised our work in the forest that fateful day.

"Tell us all about the events of your work in the forest two days ago," the commander demanded in a friendly voice, taking a sip of vodka.

"It was me," I said hastily before I could think twice. "I was the one who left the forest and handed the letter to a passer-by. Latvia and Lithuania never left the forest." It was out. There was no going back now.

The commander exchanged looks with the guard, then scrutinized me and said, smiling, "We already investigated the case. We deem it unlikely that you are the guilty one."

I was thinking hard now, trying to reconstruct what they had already found out. I explained, "We were working in different areas of the forest, so the guard was not able to supervise all of us at the same time. When he was checking on the others, I left the forest and walked to the road where I handed the letter to a civilian. It only took me ten minutes."

"Well, if you want it this way …," Braginski muttered more to himself than to me, mustering me with a curious expression. Was there a pitying look on his face? He turned to the guard. "Could this be true? Could it have happened like this?"

The guard hung his head and looked to the ground, saying nothing.

"Could this be true? Could it have happened this way?" The commander bellowed.

The guard nodded meekly. He looked as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

At the guard's confirmation, Braginski ordered, "Release Latvia and Lithuania from solitary confinement! Take them to the kitchen and make sure they get something to eat! Tomorrow they can work again. Put Prussia in solitary confinement instead!" He didn't look at me when he said the last sentence.

...

The cells for solitary confinement were in a building on the other side of the camp. Up to that day I had only seen it from far away. The guard led me along a corridor of small cells and opened one of them. Grabbing my arm and shoulder, he pressed me down and pushed me inside. I tried to stand up straight immediately, which resulted in my head dashing against the low ceiling. Seeing bright dots swirling before my eyes, I heard the iron door slam shut. The key was turned in the lock, and I heard the steps of the guard moving away.

Left alone in total darkness, I started to explore my surroundings. Groping the walls of the cell with my hands, I found out that it was approximately six feet long, three feet wide and three feet high – little more spacious than a coffin. It smelled damp and moldy.

I wondered whether there was someone else in the cells around me. I listened into the quiet night, but I heard nothing. Maybe someone would hear me if I shouted. "Hello! Is there anyone out there?" I called out into the darkness, rather quiet at first, then a second time, louder. There was no reply. I tried a few more times, but only the echo from the concrete walls answered my call. It was no use. I was alone.

I squatted down near the entrance, hunched, because the ceiling was too low to sit up straight. I tried to avoid contact with the cold floor, but as I didn't even have straw under me, I was soon chilled to the bones. Leaning my back against the cold concrete wall, I finally fell asleep.


	10. Mixed Feelings

**10. Mixed Feelings**

As soon as Prussia and the guard had left his office, Ivan leaned forward over his desk and buried his face in his palms, confused about his feelings. Why was it that he felt so bad about sending this prisoner to solitary confinement? As the camp's commander, he had punished many inmates before, but he had never felt sorry for any of them. Usually, he couldn't care less about them. He didn't understand himself any more. He needed to sort out his feelings before he made any further decisions concerning this prisoner and the 'letter' case.

Feeling sympathy for a prisoner must be a sign of weakness; maybe this was an indication that his job in this godforsaken camp wasn't doing him any good. Perhaps he spent too much time alone and should mix more with the captain and the officers. But he didn't particularly like them, and there was always the hierarchy distance between them. He had tried to be a good commander and he had managed to establish trust with his subordinates, but it wasn't enough to build up a friendship. Yes, it sure was lonely at the top. It wouldn't be such a problem if the camp was in a large city. Then he could go out every night and meet other people besides his co-workers, but here he was stuck in the back of beyond with no company except the other officers and the prisoners. Lately he had been so bored and miserable that he had caught himself enjoying being cruel to the inmates, venting his frustration on the defenseless, wretched prisoners.

But this one prisoner had been different from the others. He was so alive, so unbroken still, holding his head up high despite his rough looks and the unfavorable circumstances. He was deeply fascinated by his liveliness and admired his bright upbeat spirits and his optimism. With these qualities, the inmate seemed to be the total opposite of him. He himself might be the camp's commander, but he was lonely and unhappy. Since the day he had met that particular prisoner, however, he had felt a restless yearning for something new and different burning inside him. All of a sudden, his life seemed incomplete, dull and grey when compared to how it could be.

It seemed years that he had last felt so excited and full of hope. Back than, he had been surrounded by people who, with a deeply rooted fear of anything unusual or different, had told him that his feelings were unnatural and that he was weird, so he had learned to suppress that part of him. It had come at a price, though. It had taken no small amount of rigor towards himself to subdue part of who he was, and he had become so bitter and resentful that at times he felt hostile towards people in general. Sometimes it even resulted in bouts of cruelty, when he enjoyed seeing others suffer. If his own life was joyless, if he himself was miserable, he didn't want others to feel any other way.

In a way, he had become a lot like the people that he had so passionately hated in his youth. He was similar to them in his drive to destroy any happier, intact souls that reminded him of what he himself could have been.

But there was a part of him that was undamaged still, that he had managed to keep safely hidden from his intolerant environment, and that very part of him had surfaced again. It seemed the years of hiding had done nothing to diminish it in the slightest degree, and it was starting to fill every fiber of his body with energy that made him feel so alive. The feeling was delicate still, but it was bound to flourish if he allowed it to grow stronger.

But he couldn't allow these feelings to take over. No. He needed to decide what he should do based on reason, not on feelings that were bound to be transitory. As much as he desired to act on his feelings, he knew this wouldn't be a good choice. He was the commander, after all. He mustn't let his personal feelings override reason and affect his decisions. By putting the prisoner in solitary confinement, he had acted right, and it would be best to follow through on treating him like any other inmate. If he treated him any better than the others, the officers would think he was crazy and question his authority. He would do what a commander had to do, and as it couldn't be helped, he might as well try to enjoy it. He would suppress his feelings like he had always suppressed them, or, better yet, he would eradicate them while they were still in their budding. The best way to do this was by convincing himself that this prisoner was not worthy of his feelings: After a couple of days in solitary confinement, he would be just as meek and subdued as any other internee, unlikely to attract his attention any longer.

Plus there was this 'letter' case he was determined to solve. It was clear as day that it had not been Prussia who had given the letter to the civilian, despite his confession. His confession had been fake as fake could be. That prisoner was incredibly bad at lying, Ivan couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. How stupid did they think he was? The false confession had to be part of a plan, which meant that this group of inmates were still scheming and plotting against him, wanting him to draw the wrong conclusions. He had played along for now, but he wouldn't let them fool him. He could see right through their plan, and he would thwart it.

How gallant it had been of Prussia to jump in and sacrifice himself for his fellow inmates, Ivan thought with a tinge of derision, but solitary confinement would drive any gallantry out of him.

He would make sure of that. He would make him bitterly regret it.

This promised to be entertaining. Also, this would be the best strategy to keep his mind off these strange feelings for Prussia that there was no denying he had. If only he could break his resistance and make him beg for mercy, he wouldn't be any different from all the other prisoners and be just as despicable.

He got up and called the guard that he trusted most. "Alexei! I need you to do something for me." ...

...

...

Rain was pouring against the window in Germany's office. Just having arrived at his workplace, he was about to carry out his brotherly duty before starting with his day's work. It had become a matter of routine for him. He picked up the phone and dialed the number the Red Cross had given him. Having dialed it so many times, he knew it by heart. He listened to the ringing tone and tensed up when he heard the clink of the receiver being lifted.

"Camp Baikal, Ivan Braginski speaking."

"Hello Mr Braginski, this is Ludwig Beilschmidt calling. Could I speak to my brother Gilbert Beilschmidt, pl…" He stopped when the person at the other end hung up on him. Ludwig put the receiver down, sighing with disappointment. It was not that it surprised him, though. This had happened every time he had tried to call the camp. Ever since his brother had disappeared somewhere in Russia without leaving a message, he had tried to phone him every single day, to no avail. He frowned. What was happening to his brother? Their relationship had been so close, but since Gilbert had left, he hadn't heard of him. His brother might be reckless and irresponsible at times, but it was very unlike him not to contact him for such a long time. If this continued much longer, he was about to be seriously worried. He would have to ask America, England and France for advice.

...

_**A/N:**_

**_Isn't it ironic that I have mixed feelings about a chapter that I called 'mixed feelings'? Maybe I should have given it a different title ;)  
I might rework parts of it. _  
**


	11. Solitary Confinement II

_A/N: I just survived an entire weekend of choir practice ... :)  
I don't know why, but for some reason it took me ages to write this chapter. Hope you enjoy!_**  
**

_...  
_

**11. Solitary Confinement II**

Darkness had settled over the camp. The entrance to the solitary confinement cell block was illuminated by a light that shone from the window of the little guardroom. The guard that was responsible for the prisoners in solitary confinement was sitting there, preparing himself for a quiet night, when unexpectedly the door opened and another guard entered whom he knew as Alexei. He wasn't particularly pleased about seeing his co-worker. Alexei was a large, intimidating man whom he hardly knew since they hadn't talked much; the reason being that Alexei was habitually uncommunicative.

"Alexei. What are you doing here?" he greeted the intruder who was stomping the snow off of his boots.

"The commander sent me here," Alexei said, and to the guard's great astonishment, he sat down at the table.

"Why? What does he want you to do?" The guard asked, surprised to hear that the commander had sent another guard despite him being perfectly able to look after the detainees on his own. Had he done something wrong lately? Had his work given cause for complaint so the commander deemed it necessary to have him supervised?

"Can't tell," the other answered, gazing straight ahead even as he was talking. He didn't seem inclined to enter the conversation.

At the unsatisfying response, the guard gave up asking. He couldn't figure this Alexei guy out. But he had understood enough to know that he needed to be on his guard now that a commander's spy was on his heels.

…

…

Lithuania and Latvia returned to their cabin that night, exhausted, but glad to be back with the group. When Estonia told the two that Prussia had made a false confession so they would be released, they were a little surprised.

"This is odd," Lithuania said. "I already admitted that _I_ gave the girl the letter. I confessed right at the beginning because I hoped they would release me earlier."

Latvia nodded. "I did the same. They interrogated and threatened me, and it was terrible." He still looked quite shaken by the experience.

"Yes, I can picture it," Estonia muttered absentmindedly, not as interested in what they had gone through as he was with trying to figure out what exactly was going on. It was indeed puzzling that Prussia had been detained in exchange for Latvia and Lithuania solely on the basis of his confession when the two had already confessed.  
This was strange. Maybe they hadn't put him in solitary confinement because of his confession, but because they wanted to investigate deeper into the case. That might be the reason why Prussia had been called to the office in the first place.

"By the way, did anyone of you two mention that Prussia was involved in this?" Estonia asked.

Latvia promptly blushed. "I'm sorry," he said, looking down at the ground. "You know, they wanted me to tell them who came up with the idea, and they said I might never get out of solitary confinement if I didn't tell them who it was, so I …" His voice faltered.

"So that's why Prussia was called to the office," Estonia said. "I believe that's what finally brought him to turn himself in. I don't think he would have done it without that little push."

Latvia looked even more embarrassed now.

Bulgaria put his arm around him. "Don't blame yourself. It's okay. Everyone in your situation would have done the same," he said comfortingly. "Cheer up. Come on, I want to see you smile." Bulgaria nudged him encouragingly, at which Latvia managed to bring up a feeble smile.

Estonia smiled back, wryly. "From the way things look, it seems they really want to dig deeper. They won't be satisfied just by someone taking all the blame and punishing him. That's what I had hoped for, but apparently I was wrong." He paused briefly. "I fear they won't release Prussia before he admits that his confession was a lie and spills all the details." He ran his hands through his hair in self-reproach. "I made a mistake. I told him not to go back on his confession on any account and not to reveal any information concerning ourselves. We need to pass him a message telling him that he must withdraw his confession and say it was the two of you."

"Slip him a note to make him talk? I don't think that will be necessary," Lithuania said. "They use methods that can make a stone talk, sooner or later."

"The way I know him, he will not give in easily," Estonia countered. "I promised to get him out. We must slip him a message so he won't have to endure those methods you mentioned for longer than absolutely necessary. I assume he can safely tell them that you two spoke to the civilian. I don't think they will put you in solitary confinement again since you already confessed."

Lithuania looked around. The others seemed to support Estonia's proposal. "If you believe it's necessary," he said, "then let's do it."

"But still, there's something I don't understand," Estonia said after a while, having mulled the information over. One integral piece of the puzzle seemed to be missing still. He didn't get the big picture. "If their aim is to gain more information, why did they release you so early, in exchange for Prussia? They could have pressed much more information out of you if they had detained you longer. It doesn't make sense. It makes me wonder what kind of game they are playing."

...

...

Estonia was right. I didn't have a clue what solitary confinement meant. If I had known what was waiting for me, I would never have agreed to his plan, especially as it nearly failed because it was based on the wrong presumptions. Estonia acts like he's such a smart ass, but he's not as clever as he thinks he is. Just because he acts all rationally all the time doesn't mean others do, too. He was completely clueless in regard to Braginski. Yet, looking back, it was good that I went because Latvia and Lithuania would never have survived solitary confinement, but I did.

Thanks to the ridiculously small measures of that cell, I bumped my head several more times during my first night in there: Shifting from one uncomfortable position to another, I tried to sleep. After a couple of hours I grew more tired and actually did manage to fall asleep. But whenever a position got too uncomfortable, I half woke up and – in my semi-conscious state thinking I was still in my bunk bed – sat up straight and crashed against the ceiling, nearly splitting my head open.

I guess I slept late after that restless night. I don't know what time it was when I woke up, but I knew it was day because a ray of light shone into the cell from a gap between the cell door and the wall. Everything was still quiet. The first thing I did was peek through that gap because I was curious if I could see anything interesting. But the view was disappointing. All I could see was a narrow strip of the deserted hallway. I dug my fingers into the gap, trying to pry it open, but it was no use.

Looking out of the gap was boring. I soon gave up on it and looked around to find something else to give my attention to. My eyes were caught by the iron cell door. Maybe the guard had not locked it properly, so why not check if I could open it somehow? I pushed and pulled at it, lightly at first, then more vigorously. I tried to lift it out of its hinges. I felt for any screws that I could loosen, but no matter what I did, the door remained firmly locked.

Eventually I let myself slide back against the wall, but just sitting there was even more boring, so after a few seconds of rest, I began to scan my surroundings for any other activity they might offer. Crouched on my knees, I started to inspect the cell, searching for anything that might be hidden there. The former inhabitant might have left behind a message or food, or there might be hidden openings in the walls. I fumbled around in the dark, feeling every square inch of the walls, the floor, the ceiling and the door. I pressed my hands against the ceiling to test its resistance, I knocked on the walls to check for any hollow spaces. I scratched the walls with my fingernails, only to find out that the concrete was too solid to carve anything into it. Although I spent considerable time exploring the cell in this manner, I found nothing but minor holes and cracks, dust and cobwebs.

When I was finished, I didn't know what to do. Wherever I turned my head, it was dark like in a grave, and there were no sounds. As I was alone with nobody to talk to, I was soon bored out of my brains and slowly but surely felt I was going stir-crazy, cooped up in that cramped cell. I was growing increasingly jittery. I felt my muscles twitch, aching to move, and I would have smashed my head against the walls just to make it stop if hadn't been for another, more urgent need that slowly started to make itself felt in earnest: Hunger.

Estonia had warned me that I wouldn't get to see much food in solitary confinement, and I didn't know when I would get something to eat or drink again. So I fumbled through my pockets, hoping to find something edible, and was happy when I found three crumbs of bread. Even though it was next to nothing, it was reassuring to know I had at least some food with me, as a kind of emergency provision.

When the light grew dim in the evening, I hoped I would receive some kind of supper, or at least water, because the thirst was beginning to bug me more than the hunger. But it grew dark, and nobody came.

Nobody bothered to bring me food or water on the second day either. My mouth felt dry, my stomach hurt, and I wondered if they had forgotten about me. By now, the beam of light shining though the gap seemed like the only connection to the world outside. I crawled closer to it and cowered down, with my face turned to the light. I leaned my forehead against the bright gap by the door, hoping somebody would come.

...

...

Meanwhile, the other nations had not been idle.

In the morning of the first day of Prussia being in solitary confinement, Bulgaria walked over to the guardroom, which he found staffed with two guards. "What do you want?" the smaller of the guards asked, gruffly.

"May I ask you a favor, sir? A friend of mine, Prussia, is in solitary confinement. Could you give this to him, please?" Bulgaria asked, holding out a little piece of paper that contained the message.

The guard cast a glance back over his shoulder to Alexei, who was sitting at the table, staring ahead of him, seemingly not noticing what was going on. But that was part of his usual stoic demeanor – he might still be listening … It was better not to risk anything. "Go away," he said stone-faced, shutting the door in Bulgaria's face.

"It was worth a try," Poland said a little while later at their cabin, noticing Bulgaria's disappointment.

"Poland is right. We mustn't give up," Estonia said in support. "Asking a guard is the only way to smuggle the note through to Prussia. We don't have a chance of getting into the cell block ourselves; the door is locked at all times. Only the guards have access to it. Let's try again tonight, maybe there's a different guard on duty then, who is not as opposed to passing a message."

In the evening, Bulgaria and Estonia set out to the guardroom in a second attempt. This time, the note was hidden in a lump of bread they had saved from their halved rations to give it to Prussia. But the guardroom was manned with the same individual who they had encountered earlier. The guard cast a deprecating look at the bread and shooed the two prisoners away as if they were pesky insects.

Later that night, they assembled again to discuss their lack of success. "We need something to bribe the guard," Bulgaria suggested. "Maybe he'll accept if we offer him something he likes, like tobacco."

"And how are we supposed to get tobacco?" Estonia asked.

"Lithuania and I might be able to snatch some in the office building the next time we're on cleaning duty," Poland suggested.

Lithuania looked at him, surprised. "That's very dangerous, Po. How do you want to do it?"

"You know the coat rack in the ground floor hallway, where the officers hang up their coats sometimes? Their pockets are stuffed with tobacco," Poland explained.

"Sounds like it's worth a try," Bulgaria said.

"Do you think you can do that, Lithuania?" Estonia inquired.

"Ye-es," Lithuania said slowly, after a few moments of considering. "We might have a try at it."

"Okay, that's settled then," Estonia said. "Good luck."

…

…

Ivan had to suppress an amused chuckle when Alexei informed him on what had happened at the guardroom. He had expected the group to do something, but who would have known that Prussia's little friends would go to such lengths trying to help him? This was better than any stage play. They might be running around worriedly, like busy bees that were swarming out, bustling to get a message across to a member of their swarm that was separated from them, but it was useless. As long as he was in command, all their undertakings were doomed from the beginning. Their concern, their industrious efforts, their assiduity – all in vain. He couldn't help but smile when he pictured their disappointed expressions when they would find out their efforts had all been futile. As the camp's commander, it was his job to undermine the workings of their conspiracy. He would not allow them to interfere with his rule. He would destroy their hopes and enjoy their pain.

...

...

On the third day of Gilbert being in solitary confinement, the guard finally decided it was time to pay his prisoner a visit. As he was unlocking the door to the cell block, he noticed that Alexei had followed him. When he had entered a few steps inside and looked around, he found that Alexei had entered, too, and was walking after him, keeping a distance of a few yards. When he stopped, the other stopped, too. Somehow, this was rather unnerving. "Are you following me or what?" he demanded.

"I'm just having a look," was the vague response.

The guard begrudgingly set himself in motion again, with Alexei following him at a few steps' distance, until they came to a halt in front of Prussia's cell. The guard repeatedly beat against the iron cell door with his club, setting the hallway exploding with the sound. Being watched by that creepy Alexei guy was severely annoying him, and it certainly didn't make him inclined to behave friendly towards the prisoner. He opened the cell door, mentally immunizing himself against what he might be about to see – there had been nasty surprises.

"You in there! Are you alive?" he crudely asked.

The prisoner came crawling to the front and stuck his head out. "It was about time. Are you bringing me food and water?" he asked expectantly, looking up at the guard. The hopeful shine in his crimson eyes faded with disappointment when he realized there wasn't any.

Having seen the prisoner and ascertained that he was alive, the guard's duty was done. He wanted to slam the door shut again, but the prisoner flung his hands out and clasped the upper edge of the cell door, bracing himself against the door closing on him. "Do you want me to die of thirst? I haven't had any water for days!" he yelled, his voice beginning to sound husky after a few words. "Don't tell me I get nothing while I'm in here. When will I get something to eat and drink?"

"Not during the first three days," the guard replied, annoyed at the prisoner asking questions. "Now get back inside."

"You can't leave me here to die!" the prisoner protested.

'Do you want me to club your little fingers out of the way?' the guard was about to say, but decided against it when he reminded himself that he was being watched by Alexei. He still had no idea why he was being supervised, so he had to watch his tongue and treat the prisoner as he was supposed to, strictly, but not needlessly brutal. "Cut it out!" he chose to say instead, leaning himself against the door with all his weight. The prisoner was gradually pushed back inside the cell, drawing back his fingers right before it fell shut. The guard could hear the muffled shouts of the prisoner slowly die down as he walked along the hallway and out of the building, with Alexei dogging him all the while.

…

…

Poland and Lithuania proved skilled enough to get hold of some tobacco. So Bulgaria and Estonia turned up at the guardroom again, renewing their request, this time showing the guard their gift.

"It's for you. Please accept it," Bulgaria started his attempt. "The commander may be a rich bastard who makes you act all strict and severe, but I know there are still good guys around who know what's right and have sympathy for a humble prisoner."

The guard hesitated. Of course he would like to have the tobacco. He could either smoke it or barter it for something else he needed. He would probably have accepted it if there hadn't been a certain someone who was watching him like a nanny did … He glanced back over his shoulder and caught Alexei in one of his rare moments when he didn't wear a serious facial expression. His face was contorted with derision and he actually made eye contact. Alexei's knowing look made the guard's blood run cold. No, he could not accept the tobacco, not when he couldn't rule out the possibility of Alexei reporting everything to the commander.

"Get lost," he gruffly said to the prisoner, surprised about his overly harsh tone of voice. Yes, he certainly regretted having to reject an offer like this. He inwardly cursed Alexei with a selection of the most vicious curses he could think of.


	12. Solitary Confinement III

_**Warnings:** Contains descriptions of starvation/dehydration, torture, physical and medical violence, swearing. But still rated T because it's non-sexual.  
_

_Sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter. I couldn't decide on POV.  
_

_I hope it's not too OOC._

_..._

**12: Solitary Confinement III**

After three days and three nights spent in solitary confinement, a guard brought me my first meal, a bowl of gruel. I started to gobble it down, but after I had eaten a few spoons full, the guard took it away again.

"You want to eat more?" he asked with a sneer. "Then tell me what you did."

"What?" I asked, puzzled. Didn't he know I had already confessed?

A sudden jerk of his arm, and part of the gruel was spilled on the ground. "Don't play stupid with me. Confess," he said menacingly.

I deemed it best to repeat my confession, as Estonia had advised me to do.

"That's not what I was talking about," the guard said with growing impatience. "Stop lying and tell me what really happened that day."

This didn't sound like Estonia's plan was coming off too well. Yet I maintained, "It was me. Instead of doing my assigned job, I left the forest and contacted a citizen."

He emptied the rest of the bowl on the floor, turned on his heel and walked away.

After they had shut the door on me again, I touched the floor of my cell to find out if there was anything wet. I was lucky. Some of the gruel had leaked inside. Lowered down on my knees, I helped myself to all I could get of it.

…

When the guard returned the next time, he handed me a cup of water, which I downed in one swig.

"Look what I've brought," he said when I had finished drinking. He held a bowl of soup out to me. "You can have it. The only thing you have to do is tell me everything."

I said nothing.

He waited a minute or so, then he swayed the bowl tantalizingly in front of me. "Doesn't it smell delicious? I'm sure you'd like to have it. You must be very hungry and thirsty." He snickered.

I would have smacked that stupid grin of his out of his face if I'd had the chance. But again, I didn't say anything.

To torment me even more, he dipped a spoon into the soup and fished out a scrap of sinewy meat. "Look at this fine piece of pork," he tempted me, holding it under my nose. "Wouldn't it taste delicious? Just tell me all you know, it's really easy."

I jolted forward, and in a second I had snapped the meat from the spoon and swallowed it.

It was really easy. Its taste though was not near as good as the guard had suggested. I admit that my pleasure at the guard's face boosted the flavor of this average labor camp canteen's creation, but my enjoyment of it was marred by a nagging feeling in my stomach that remained after the guard had stomped away. I wondered what they had in store for me.

…

They didn't hold me in suspense for a long time.

A while later, two guards walked me to a windowless room at the end of the hallway. With its tiled floor, neon light and smell of blood, it reminded me of a butcher's shop. The queasy feeling in my stomach grew into a full-grown knot because I had seen similar rooms before and knew well what they were built for.

My gut feeling did not betray me. What they did to me in there was the usual stuff, I'd say. My famished state put me at an advantage because at that point I was already so worn out that I didn't notice all of what happened, and the blows to my head added to that effect. I remember they tied me to a chair in the middle of the room and questioned me; beating or kicking me every time I didn't answer or repeated my false confession. Compared to other interrogation standards, I must say their practices were rather unrefined. That guy was either inexperienced or lacked sensitivity in regard to how far he could go. All in all, I must say their interrogation was a total failure. I mean, if your aim is to make someone talk, it's not the smartest idea to flog them senseless.

It seems I didn't mention the flogging before. That was at some point after the questioning. They released me from the chair and strapped me to the wall instead. My memory of it is sketchy at best. I counted about twenty lashes before I stopped because I wasn't really aware of what was going on anymore.

Years later, when I had just returned to Ludwig and refused to talk to him about what happened to me while I was in Russia, he had the bright idea to find out how many times they had whipped me. While I was asleep, he pulled up my shirt to count the scars on my back. But I woke up and told him to stop it because it didn't make sense. I mean, did he seriously believe they chose a new patch of skin for each blow? That's just ridiculous. Even if he had managed to count, let's say, 28 or 33 separate welts, what's the point in it? It just doesn't matter.

But Ludwig didn't understand. He wanted to bring the issue before the International Court of Justice and sue for compensation. It would have meant to testify in front of the court and go through all of it again. I didn't want that shxx, so I told him to stay the fxxx out of it. The past is the past, and there are things you better not dig up. But I'm digressing.

So it's back to the events in solitary confinement. When they were finished with me, they must have brought me back to my cell because that was where I woke up. By then, I had completely lost track of time, so I couldn't tell which day it was. I couldn't get up into a sitting position, so I just kept still on the floor, the concrete floor absorbing my body warmth. Soon, my body began to tremble. A guard brought me water and soup, just like that, without any attempts at questioning me. But it wasn't enough. I was parched.

…

The next day, the guard showed up again and asked me if I had changed my mind. "Will you finally tell me what happened and who made up the plan?" he asked.

I rattled off some of the phrases they taught us during indoctrination, like "I'm not a proper Communist nation" and "I didn't follow the rules and I committed a crime against the camp's authorities." I had acquired quite a repertoire.

Maybe I messed some of them up, maybe my voice was too hoarse; the guard wasn't satisfied. "Describe from the beginning and in detail how you and the others wrote the letter, and how you planned to smuggle it out of camp!" he barked.

For the umptieth time, I repeated my confession, aiming to sound coherent and convincing.

My still not going back on my claims got the guard so enraged that he stooped down, grabbed me by my hair and pulled me up to his face, so close I could feel his breath on my skin.

"If you want to leave solitary confinement today," he threatened, "you will not only confess that it was Lithuania and Latvia who illicitly left camp; you will also admit that it was the joint plan of your little conspiring group. You will provide the names of the other prisoners involved in the conspiration and describe in detail in what way they contributed to the crime so that they can be punished accordingly. Who, for example, stole the paper and the stamps for the letter?" He shook my head one last time, glaring at me wildly before he let me sink back on the floor. His bad breath lingered, and I felt his spit on my face.

I finally knew what they wanted to hear.

The guard placed a bowl of soup on the ground beside my head. "Be reasonable," he said, having cooled off considerably. "Drink the soup and tell me all you know. But I warn you, my patience is not unlimited."

Lying at his feet, I swallowed the hot soup. I felt new strength surging through my body. My mind was made up. I would never tell him what he was asking me for; not when I had promised Estonia to keep everything secret.

"I promise to never do it again. I am asking for a second chance," I resumed my 'confession'.

The guard lost his patience. He kicked me in my face with his boot, adding one more gash to my forehead. "That's not what I want to hear! Stop talking nonsense! I already know about your little scheming and plotting group. You must report what you did as a group. If you don't, you'll stay here!"

He stormed off. The other guard pushed me back into the cell and locked it. My heart sank as I heard the sound of his footsteps fade away.

I was at my wit's end. I had hoped they would release me after so many days and all that I'd gone through. I had endured the hunger, the thirst, the cold, the beatings, and now it seemed there was no end in sight. I didn't have it in me to betray the others. I just couldn't. If this was what I needed to do to be released, I would never get out.

If Estonia wanted to get me out of here alive, he'd better do it soon, I thought before I dozed off into a stupor.

As time passed, I didn't feel my body anymore. Instead, my mind was playing tricks on me. I imagined that I was sitting on a tree stump in the forest, together with Bulgaria. We're waiting for Estonia. It's cold and it's getting dark, but Estonia doesn't show up. Something bad, unforeseen must have happened. When I turn to talk to Bulgaria, he's suddenly gone and I'm all alone.

The image fades and I see my brother at the entrance gate of the camp, asking for me. The porter tells him that he has never heard of a person with my name living in camp. He checks a list, shaking his head.

…

The next thing I felt was being dragged out of the cell. Someone slaps my face. "Wake up! Look at me." There's urgency in his voice.

I blink, but I see only black.

"Ah, finally you're awake." He sounds relieved. "Come on, sit up so you can eat."

He grabs me by my shoulders and I'm propped up against a wall.

"Try to drink some soup."

I feel the rim of a cup pressed against my lips. A small amount of soup is poured into my mouth, making me cough and choke.

"Stop it."

As I gasp for air, someone gently slaps my back. It hurts, and I wish they would just let me sleep.

"You overdid it." Again, the commander's voice. He sounds furious. I don't have the time to be surprised that he's here, as the noise of blood rushing in my ears is getting louder, drowning out all other sounds as I fall asleep again.

...

I wake up in terror because something is stuck into my nose and pushed deeper inside, far too deep. It hurts, and I'm in panic because I believe it's probably some sick new method of torture that I don't know of yet.

And it could easily have passed as that, because you can't breathe when they shove that tube down your throat to feed you. I thought I was being suffocated. Temporarily revived by a rush of adrenaline, I thrashed around to make them stop. But my arms were held back, and someone clasped my head so I couldn't move.

"Far enough," I finally heard someone mutter, and I could breathe again.

…

When I woke up again, I lay sprawled on my back on the ground. Footsteps were shuffling close to my head, and I heard people murmur over me. I pried my eyes open and could discern a guard, the medic, and to my surprise, Estonia and Latvia.

When the medic bent over me, a tube in his hands, I realized they were about to do it again. Latvia and the guard kept me pinned to the ground, and Estonia knelt behind me to hold my head in position while the medic squeezed the tube inside me, setting me gagging and choking all over again.

This time I was more awake. I was aware of Estonia shushing me when I writhed under their grip. I heard Latvia break out in sobs, giving Estonia some more comforting to do while they poured some liquid through a funnel into the tube.

When they let go of me, I felt something being squeezed into my hand. Closing my fingers around it, I noticed it was a small piece of paper.

After the guard had shoved me back into my cell, I unfolded it. Smoothening it with my thumbs, I recognized Estonia's clear handwriting. _"Confess. Only Latvia and Lithuania."_ So Estonia had kept his promise and had finally come up with a plan to get me out. I rolled up the scrap of paper and swallowed it.

I spent the afternoon lying in my cell, swallowing the blood that kept dripping from my nose into my throat.

…

When the guard appeared in the morning of the following day, I told him I wanted to confess.

He threw me a glance of distrust. "Don't try to fool me again. What is it that you want to confess?"

I began to speak, but my words were nothing but hoarse grunts.

"Get out of your cell so you can sit up and speak better," he snarled.

I crept out of my cell, laboriously and painstakingly slowly. When I had reached the hallway, blood started gushing out of my mouth and nose. Disgusted at my sight, the guard turned away.

"Come over here, I need your help," he called for another guard.

"Let the medic have a look at the prisoner and then take him back to his cabin," he instructed the guard. "Allow him three days to get better so he can write down his confession."

Turning to me, he threatened, "If you don't make a full confession, we'll see each other again soon."

...

It was over.

...

The medic's first measure consisted of sending the guard to the canteen to bring soup, bread and tea.

"I won't treat you unless you eat a decent meal first," he insisted as he placed a bowl of soup and a morsel of bread in front of me.

I liked the man instantly, even though he was the one who had conducted the force-feeding.

That meal tasted better than anything I had eaten in a long time.

When I had finished, he had me sit on the table. "Now let's see what's under all this blood," he said. He gently took my chin in his hand and carefully washed my face with a wet towel. I was surprised at how much blood there seemed to be. I hadn't looked in a mirror lately, and I figured all the blows and nosebleeds had left their traces.

Turning my head to the left and to the right, he closely examined the bruises. "Nothing too serious," he said. "I'll cleanse them and you'll be fine." He returned from the cupboard with a cotton swab and a bottle and started his work.

When he had almost finished, he said, "As soon as I'm done with this, I need to take a look at your back. The bruises on your face are nothing compared to those wounds you seem to have on your back." He lightly touched my shoulder and looked down my back, where my shirt was caked with blood. "Whatever they did to you, it looks horrible." Putting the supplies aside, he demanded, "Please take off your shirt."

I had secretly dreaded that moment. The cotton fabric of my shirt seemed glued to the gashes on my back, and I feared they would tear open again if I took it off. I wanted to explain that to the medic, but I was barely able to whisper.

He, however, seemed to have noticed the problem by himself. Getting a bottle of vodka from the cupboard, he said,

"I see what you're getting at, but it's absolutely necessary that I cleanse those wounds. You don't want to end up with an infection, do you? I'll soak your shirt in vodka so it's easier to remove."

At these words, the more unpleasant part of his treatment started. However careful he was, I squirmed when he removed my shirt. When it finally came off, I heard him draw his breath in through his teeth. "Isn't it good that I took it off?" he remarked as he inspected the gashes. "You might not live until spring if I didn't have rubbing alcohol." He started to disinfect the wounds and wrapped my back in bandages.

"This will have to do," he said. "I'm short on dressings."

Then he rummaged his cupboards and found a spare tin can that he filled with tea. He gave it to me before I left, together with the rest of the bread, urging me to eat and drink as much as I could and telling me to see him again to change the dressings.

Feeling immensely rich with all the food, the guard and a prisoner half dragged, half carried me to my cabin. They set me down on Bulgaria's bunk where I stayed, as I was unable to climb to my upper bunk. In fact I was unable to leave the bunk for two days. Bulgaria slept in my bunk now.

I wasn't fully aware of what was going on around me all the time yet, waking from my dozing only when someone stood right next to me and addressed me in a loud voice. But I noticed the concern speaking from their eyes. In the mornings, I got to drink Poland's coffee, and now and then they offered me some of their food, which must have been hard for them since they had just experienced a week of halved bread rations. Lithuania even served me a dish of tender meat from leftovers of the officers' mess that he and Poland had somehow managed to scavenge. Gradually, the strength returned to my body, and I was amazed at my reserves. I was alive, and that was the only thing that mattered.

...

...

A/N:

_I settled on first person POV for this chapter, but I still have doubts about it. What do you think? __Did I ruin it? Please tell me if it's too OOC. _  


_I'd also like to hear your opinion on the POV changes in the other chapters. Would you prefer it if I stick to third person POV for the entire story?  
_

...

**You've reached the end of the last chapter I've uploaded so far. I'll add more chapters soon. **

**Thank you for reading the story up to this point! I know it's looong ... I'm grateful for the attention and time you devoted to reading it, and I'd be delighted if you leave a review! :)**


	13. Allies Meeting

**13. Allies Meeting**

"_Ne t'inquiète pas de ton frère, Ludwig (_1). I have known Gilbert for a long time, and this is just how he is. He doesn't always keep in touch. I guess he needs a break sometimes, especially from someone, _excuse-moi (_2), as _serieux (_3) as you are." Francis consolingly padded the German's shoulder.

Ludwig, however, kept frowning.

"Still not convinced? _Eh bien (4)_, let me tell you about your brother and me. In the 1740s, we fought side by side in the same wars, together with Antonio (_5)_. We were really close back then, drinking and partying and enjoying life's pleasures every night – _le vin, les filles (6)_…" He reminisced.

England shot an angry glance at France when he mentioned the Silesian wars, whereas America kept munching his supersize hamburger, only slightly wincing a few times; whether it was because of the foreign sounding words or the mentioning of alcohol and adult themes, or both, was hard to tell.

"When the wars were over, however, Gilbert just left. All of a sudden, without leaving a note. I guess he lost interest after he met Elizaveta, _honhonhon_. It was months before he showed up again, but when he returned, it was as if nothing had changed. We were such _amis formidables (7)_."  
Leaning closer towards Ludwig, he whispered in his ear, "Anyway, I am sure your brother is having a _very_ good time with Ivan right now and doesn't want his little brother to interfere, _honhonhonhon_."

Grossed out, Germany backed away from the chuckling Frenchman. Gilbert might not have kept in touch with Francis regularly, but the two were just friends, not brothers. He had never been left alone by Gilbert for longer than a couple of days.

"Has it ever occurred to you, frog, that Prussia might have left you to forge an alliance with me?" England asked sharply.

"Dudes, what's all this talk about?" America interrupted them. He had finished eating and tapped against the microphone.

"Jesus Christ, stop that noise Alfred, will you?" England held his ears.

As soon as he had everyone's attention, Alfred stopped. "We as the Allies decided that Prussia will belong to Russia, so there's no point discussing it any further."

"_Bitte (8)_, America, I'm really worried about my brother and would like to see him once in a while. I had hoped that Russia would bring him along today, but…"

"But Ivan didn't deem it necessary to show up for our Allies meeting," America finished Ludwig's sentence, his expression serious now. Russia isolating himself and Prussia along with him definitely hadn't been part of the plan. His brows knitted. "We all agree that Russia's acting suspicious, right? It looks like he doesn't want to be our ally anymore."

After a few seconds lost in thought, an idea seemed to strike him. "I got it! I figured it all out. The Russians are hatching something evil behind our backs, and that evil is Communism. We have a new threat here."

He looked at his audience, unimpressed by their astonished or reserved looks. When his eyes fell on Ludwig, he continued, all excited, "Don't worry, Germany! With my brand new program, I'll turn you into a strong ally against the evil Communists. I'll be pumping money into your country's economy so you can stand up against the new threat. I'll call the program the 'Marshall Plan'."

Germany looked at him, surprised. _Did he just make that up?_

"Bloody hell, you can't be serious, America. Germany's been our enemy for years; he can deem himself lucky that we allowed him to witness our meeting. And now, all of a sudden, you refer to him as our _ally_? That's a little too fast, if you ask me." England protested.

"_Moi, j'aime déjà ce plan (9)_," France said, chuckling at the indignant Briton. "As long as it doesn't cost me any money, I will gladly agree to it."

"It won't. Raise your hand if you support my plan." America lifted his hand and looked into the round. "Russia's absent, Germany's vote doesn't count; which leaves two against one. So it's officially and democratically decided. I hereby declare the start of the Marshall Plan! Now listen up, and you might want to take notes. The first step will consist of rebuilding the infrastructure…"

England threw himself back in his chair, arms crossed, while Germany hastily opened his notebook and grabbed his pen.

...

Annotations:

1 Don't worry about your brother

2 excuse me

3 serious

4 well

5 A few historical annotations:

1740-42 First Silesian War: Prussia, France, Spain vs. Austria, England, Russia

1744-45 Second Silesian War: Prussia, France, Spain vs. Austria and England

1756-63 Third Silesian War: Prussia and England vs. Austria, Russia, France, Spain

I know the story is flawed because I make it seem as if Gilbert and Ivan meet for the first time when actually they share a long history. Sorry for that!

6 the wine, the girls

7 great friends

8 please

9 I like the plan already.

...

_A/N: Sorry if this chapter seems rather short or if you had hoped to read more about Prussia and Russia! __The allies meeting is just an interlude before the story returns to the main plot line, and I promise the next chapter will see Prussia and Russia again. _As it will be rather short, too, I'll upload it sooner than usual. 

_Reviews are much appreciated! I'd like to know what you think! Please let me know if America sounds un-American and England un-British, or if the French or anything else is wrong. And stay tuned for the next chapter! _


	14. An Invitation to Dinner

_A/N: Another chapter in (rather) quick succession!  
_

_Prussia took over again. He wasn't satisfied with contributing sad stuff only and insisted on writing this chapter, too.  
That is to say, I wrote this in Prussia's first person point of view despite my resolve to stick to third person perspective. (goes into hiding …) _

_..._

**14: An Invitation to Dinner**

Starting off where I left off last time, I think I should answer a few questions that I left open. Maybe you've asked yourselves whether I felt revengeful, or why Latvia and Estonia were allowed access to the solitary confinement cell block. Both questions are easy to answer. I didn't have any feelings of hatred or revenge at all. I really didn't; I was simply glad to be alive.

Latvia told me that Estonia was so worried about me he was close to freaking out when he realized his plan was going wrong and I wasn't released. He felt so guilty that he spent most of his free time in front of the solitary confinement cell block, begging the guards to let him see me, but they only laughed at him.

Estonia would often be accompanied by one of the others to help him persuade the guards. The day Braginski finally showed up, for instance, he was lingering at the entrance together with Latvia. When they heard Braginski call for the medic after he'd seen what condition I was in, they feared I had died. It wasn't before the medic appeared and asked them to assist him that they dared to hope again. Still, they were quite shocked when they saw me.

...

Three days after I was released, I wrote my confession, basically repeating what Latvia and Lithuania already had admitted.

"It seems they punished you so severely to discourage us from any further actions," Estonia surmised. "Let's hope they'll leave it at that."

He proved right. The authorities decided that our squad had been punished enough by solitary confinement and halved food rations and closed the case.

On the eighth day after my release I took up work again. As I was ready for change and didn't want to go back to that lame job in the forest _(edit: he was still too weak_ _for forest work_), I asked for a different job. The officer of the day realized that I could do better than cut wood _(edit: he knew that Prussia was still recovering)_ and assigned me a job in the laundry.

I felt victorious about having gained myself a better job; one where I wouldn't have to work out in the cold all day. The laundry was supposed to be a warm place. Plus, this job wouldn't burn up as much energy, as I was spared having to march the several kilometres to the forest and back again every day. In short, this new job would increase my chances of survival by many times. I was happy and determined to do my best at it.

As I had expected, the work was easy. I spent the first days on my new job collecting the officers' dirty clothes, washing them, hanging them out to dry, ironing and folding the uniforms and returning the freshly washed clothes to the officers' apartments.

I loved every part of it, with the exception of washing maybe, and I believe I must have worked with a constant grin on my face during the first days because I couldn't help but think of how much better my new job was than my old one. My work environment was warm and clean, and when I returned to my cabin in the evening, I wasn't all done in and frozen as I had been before.

...

Several days into my new job, I was once again ordered to help distribute the freshly laundered uniforms that I had ironed. Accompanied by a trusty, I pushed the laundry cart along the corridors of the apartment building where the officers lived on camp. The trusty opened each door with his keys so that I could go inside and put the uniforms in the wardrobes. When I had finished, the trusty locked the door again. Thus, we worked our way through the entire building.

We had finally reached the top floor where the higher ranked officers lived. I was stooped over the laundry cart, taking up a pile of clothes when I suddenly saw a shadow being cast over me and the cart. I spun around and almost dropped the clothes when I saw myself face to face with Braginski, who stood a few inches before me.

"Commander Braginski!" I blurted out in surprise, involuntarily taking a step back.

I bumped backwards into the laundry cart and set it rolling. Almost losing balance, I quickly groped for the pushcart behind my back for support, clutching the pile of clothes in my other arm. All the while I didn't turn my back on Braginski. My hand finally found the handle and brought the cart to a standstill.

"Let me have a look at the clothes," Braginski smiled when I had steadied myself again. He picked up the topmost blouse from the pile of clothes I was carrying and unfolded it.

The trusty watched him in terror.

I, however, though taken by surprise, was not afraid of Braginski. His build and appearance might seem intimidating to some, but I had met him before, and he had seemed friendly and well-meaning. On top of that, I knew that he hadn't punished me because he held a personal grudge against me, but because the camp's rules demanded it of him. He might be a nice guy after all. So I watched with interest as he inspected the uniforms.

"Who ironed the uniforms?" Braginski asked the trusty, who was trembling with fear now.

"One of the prisoners working in the laundry," the trusty answered with a wobbly voice.

His answer made me curious. He knew very well that it was me who had ironed them, so why didn't he say so? He seemed frightened, as if he feared some sort of punishment.

As I was certain the trusty was misjudging Braginski and I myself had no reason to be scared of him, I took a chance and said, "It was me who ironed them," looking him in the eyes, wondering how he would react.

He looked up from inspecting the clothes and cast me an astonished glance. I could tell he wasn't used to prisoners speaking to him unasked.

"It's good to see you up and on your feet again," he finally said; friendly, but distanced.

That was all he had to say? I wanted to drag him out of his shell a little, so I said, "You should feel honored to have someone as awesome as me do the ironing!"

Braginski turned his full attention to me now and surveyed me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

After several seconds, I began to feel uncomfortable under his creepy stare.

"What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like this?" I alerted him to the fact that I could hear and see and feel.

"You have changed," he replied, still not averting his eyes off me.

I stared back at him, unsure what he meant by that.

"Ten days of solitary confinement, and yet he can iron so well," he finally broke his gaze, approvingly looking at the freshly ironed uniforms instead. "There isn't a single crease."

I triumphed inwardly. It had been worth the risk to disclose that it had been me who ironed the uniforms. Braginski approved of my work and was praising me! I couldn't believe my luck. Finally someone recognized my awesomeness!

Braginski turned to the trusty. "He broke our record. He was the first to survive ten days of solitary confinement."

He was talking about me.

"Last year, we had a similar case where a prisoner spent ten days in solitary confinement. The guard dragged him out dead on the tenth day."

Turning to me again, he said cheerfully, "Thanks to you, I won ten bottles of vodka. I had a bet going on. One bottle for me for every day you survived. If you had died, I would have lost all the vodka to the captain."

He patted my shoulder in an attempt at an appreciative gesture.

The touch of his heavy hand almost sent me to the ground, strong as he was and me being thin as a twig.

"Ha, ha," he laughed as he saw me stumble and brace myself against the laundry cart once again. "You could do with some food, couldn't you? I guess I owe you that much. See me in my office tonight after work."

Having said that, he left.

What a freak he was, I thought as I looked after him. The fact that he had betted on my life made me doubt about his character. I needed to find out more.

"Why are you so afraid of Braginski?" I asked the trusty.

"Well," he answered, "before you were assigned the job in the laundry, we had another prisoner do the ironing. However, about two weeks ago, the commander checked the uniforms on the laundry cart, just as he did today. But it didn't turn out as well." He grew nervous even at the memory of what had happened. "He found a crease in the uniform, at which he had the prisoner fired from his laundry job and severely punished by diminished food allowances.

"What's become of him?"

"He survived and works in the forest now."

I felt even luckier about having passed Braginski's check of my ironing skills.

As I resumed my work, I wondered whether his invitation was a good or a bad thing.

I should be glad about his invitation, I thought, as I was in desperate need of food and should happily take advantage of every chance to eat. This would also be a good opportunity to snatch some of the food and take it home to my fellow inmates. I could already picture their astonished looks and their joy about the food. I would bathe in their admiration, and they would have to acknowledge my brilliance.

Also, I had no reason not to trust Braginski. I would be cautious and not let my guard off, but I would give him a chance. Even more reckless than accepting the invitation would be to reject it, because that would probably make him mad.

A small voice in the back of my head reminded me that it had been more of an order than an invitation, but I quickly discarded that thought. I must not get too worked up about it. After all, it would most probably be just a short meeting to say thank you and to feed me on the occasion, I supposed.

I wondered how I should act in front of Braginski. Everyone seemed to be scared of him, not looking him in the eyes, speaking in a submissive voice, or even trembling at his sight like the trusty. I had made a difference today when I had spoken up to him, confident and without fear. He seemed to have liked that for a change.

The invitation was a chance, I concluded, and it would be stupid not to go solely on the basis of the few doubts I had.

...

_A/N: _

_I had originally written this in first person POV. When I became aware that POV changes can be confusing and are considered non-standard, I rewrote it in third person perspective. But fact is, I didn't like it, and I ended up switching it back to first person. _

_Read and review, please!_


	15. Dinner with the Commander

_Sorry for the long wait!  
This is my longest chapter so far, and I didn't want to split it up. It's written in third person perspective but alternates between Gilbert's and Ivan's POV. Please let me know if this constant POV switching is confusing. _

___Warnings for alcohol, cigarettes and binge eating (though I'm not sure if it qualifies as that).  
_

_Enjoy! _

**15. Dinner with the commander**

When Gilbert had finished his work that day, he walked over to the office building, hungry after the long hours of work and curious about what the commander had in store for him that night. He sincerely hoped Braginski would be generous with the food and not fob him off with just a plain slice of dry bread or a meagre bowl of gruel.  
But no, he thought as he knocked on the commander's office door; Braginski wouldn't be so stingy. He would know how to appropriately reward his good work and offer him a selection of finer foods. Some meat _had_ to be part of the dinner, since that was what he craved most.

"Come in," Braginski called from inside.

From behind his large desk, Ivan watched as the prisoner entered and quickly scanned the room for food. So that was why he had come, Ivan thought when Gilbert's expression changed from initial curiosity to growing caution as he didn't find any signs of a meal prepared for him.

Nevertheless, Ivan smiled at his guest, trying to be as welcoming as he could.  
"I'm glad you could come. Please sit down." He gestured to the chair opposite of him.

Gilbert reluctantly took a seat. Where on earth was his food?

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, I guess." Gilbert shrugged. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, his mistrust clearly showing.

"So how was your day?" Ivan asked, friendly. He intended to put his guest at ease and make this evening a pleasant experience for him. If his plans for the evening worked out well, he would have an offer to make later that night.

Gilbert looked at the commander, perplexed. What was this? Polite conversation with prisoners 101?  
"Well, I worked in the laundry as usual. So I guess it was okay," Gilbert said hesitantly, looking at his opposite with barely concealed suspicion. It was definitely weird that the commander had invited him, a prisoner. Who knew what he was up to? And, above all, why wasn't there any food? He felt tricked, cheated.

Ivan had to turn away from watching his guest to keep himself from laughing. This man was so easy to read. He had written 'I want food' all over him. But he would have to wait and endure the uncertainty a little longer, because Ivan had planned to start the evening in Russian style.

Sensing he wouldn't get any farther with polite small talk, Ivan decided to skip the introductory talking and go straight to the next stage. A little vodka would make anyone open up.  
"I suppose you remember the ten bottles of vodka I mentioned to you earlier today?" he asked.

"Yes." Of course Gilbert remembered. How could he possibly forget that this freak had placed a bet on his survival?

"Here they are," Ivan walked over to a cabinet and opened it, proudly presenting his prize to his guest. "As you are the reason I won them, I guess it's only fair if I let you have some of it."

Gilbert watched sceptically as the commander took out one of the bottles and poured each of them a glass of vodka. The glasses weren't the tiny little shot glasses he knew from Germany; they were almost three times their size, nearly as big as water glasses. At least Braginski didn't fill them completely.  
Fine, Gilbert thought sarcastically. If he wasn't about to get any food, vodka was at least better than nothing at all.

"This is excellent Russian vodka," Braginski appreciatingly looked at the clear liquid before he raised his glass and gestured towards Gilbert to do the same. Reluctantly, Gilbert lifted his glass.

"Nazdarovye!" Russia called out. "Say it, too." He demanded with a twinkle in his eyes.

Braginski really seemed to enjoy this, Gilbert observed.

"Nastrovye." Gilbert half-heartedly repeated the foreign word, and when Russia emptied his glass in one draw, he did the same. Where was this going to lead, Prussia wondered as he set his glass back on the table, the alcohol burning in his throat. Braginski sure was an eccentric, drinking vodka with a prisoner. He should rather be drinking together with the other officers; that would be more befitting his rank.

The commander was already filling their glasses a second time. "You'll have to practice the Russian cheers once again, I'm afraid," he said to Gilbert, smiling. "Your German tongue makes it sound all harsh and wrong. Listen closely. It's na-zda-ROH-vyeh." He pronounced each syllable distinctly.

With Braginski all serious about teaching him the right pronunciation, Gilbert knew he had no choice. "Na–zda-ro–vye," he repeated, putting more effort into it now, not wanting to make the commander angry.

"Da," Braginski nodded, satisfied with his pronunciation, and they drank the second glass.

"This is good, da?" Braginski asked. "Let's have one more."

It was not because Gilbert didn't like vodka that he began to feel a little uneasy when Braginski filled their glasses a third time. Hungry as he was, he had come in the hope to receive food, but here Braginski was making him drink vodka instead. Had he lured him into his lair with the prospect of food to make him drunk? He feared that he couldn't cope with much vodka on an empty stomach. Normally, he could deal with large quantities of beer and booze, but he hadn't had alcohol for what seemed like ages. He could already feel the impact of the two glasses of vodka.

"Nazdarovye!" They downed the third glass.

When Gilbert put his empty glass down again, Braginski asked, "What happened to your hands?"

Gilbert looked down at his hands. He had to admit they were in pretty sorry shape. The constant exposure to the cold had caused the skin on the back of his hands to dry out and crack open, leaving them red and inflamed. Now that his job included washing clothes, the prolonged contact with water had worsened the problem. His hands were raw and bleeding.

"It happens when you wash clothes," Gilbert shrugged.

"Oh, I see," Russia said sympathetically. "Let me get you something. I'll be back in a minute." A short while later, he was back and handed Gilbert a new jar of vaseline. "I'm sure this will help."

"Thank you," Gilbert said, astonished at the unexpected gift.

"Put some on, if you like," Braginski encouraged him. "I don't mind."

Gilbert opened the jar and spread some of the rich oily cream on the back of his hands. It felt soothing on his sore skin, making him feel a lot better, so much that his face formed into a smile. "This will cure my hands in no time!" He grinned at Braginski, who smiled back.  
"Keep the rest."

Gilbert let the jar disappear in his pocket. At least now he had something to show the others and share with them!

"You must be hungry, I suppose." Ivan said.

"I am." Gilbert looked up, surprised. Finally Braginski was on the right track.

Smiling at his guest's positive reaction, Braginski stood up. "I prepared something for the evening. If you would follow me, please."

So there was food after all? Curious, Gilbert walked after him.

Ivan led him to a door on the small side of the room and held it open for him. "Please. After you."

Gilbert stepped through the door to find himself in a back room of the commander's office, probably designed to receive guests. It didn't deserve its name, though: It was clean, brightly lit and well-heated by a fireplace; the walls and ceiling were painted a light color; the wooden floorboards were covered by a carpet; and curtains of a matching color were draped over the window.  
The room was furnished in the style of an upper middle class living room. In the middle stood a table, covered by a clean white tablecloth, and two chairs. It was nothing that Gilbert hadn't seen before, but he had grown so unaccustomed to any luxury that it seemed to him as unreal as if it was from a fairy-tale.

"Sit down, please," Ivan smiled when he found his guest quite overwhelmed. He pointed to the chair opposite of him.

Gilbert sat down on the cushioned chair and looked over the table. It was set with two plates and soup bowls, each complete with spoon, fork and knife and a tea cup with a tea spoon placed beside it. It wasn't luxurious, just what you needed for a normal meal, but still he couldn't help but marvel at it.  
As a prisoner, he had nothing but a tin cup and a spoon to eat with. His cabin was, if at all, poorly heated, lit by a single dim lamp, the walls and floor were made of unhewn wood, and there were no curtains. The contrast couldn't have been starker. Involuntarily, he thought of his own ragged and dirty appearance and suddenly felt exposed in the bright light. For a moment, he felt strangely out of place in such luxury.

Ivan was pleased that his arrangements made such an impression on Prussia. "I'm happy you like it," he said, getting out a box of matches to light the candle.

"It's nice. I didn't know there were rooms like this in camp," Gilbert conceded but mentally slapped himself for letting his sudden self-consciousness show. He would just have to forget about how he looked, he decided. Braginski at least was oblivious to his shabby outer appearance.  
In regard to his surroundings, Gilbert imagined that at a closer look, the shining materials in the room would turn out to be cheaply made; nothing that would even get near the quality controls of a German manufacture. Although he knew this was probably not true, it helped him to quickly find back to his usual smug self. His surroundings were definitely promising of a good evening, and he deserved no less, he concluded, a grin on his face.

"Would you like some tea?" Ivan turned to a huge metal urn that stood on a side table.

"Yes, please." Prussia's eyes examined the unfamiliar shining object. It had a faucet at its base, and on top of it stood a teapot.

At Gilbert's yes, Russia lifted the teapot from the urn and poured a small amount of tea in a cup before he held it under the spigot and filled it up with hot water from the urn.

"What _is_ this device?" Gilbert asked as the commander handed him the cup of tea.

"Don't you know what a samovar is?" Russia seemed astonished at his guest's ignorance. "Every child knows it's used to brew tea and boil water." He explained while he poured himself a cup of tea in the same manner.

Gilbert shook his head. "I've never seen one."

"You definitely missed out on something. Everyone in Russia uses it, and the tea is delicious. Just try some."

Gilbert took a sip of the hot reviving drink.

"Wait, it's even better if you take some sugar in it." Ivan interrupted and put a spoonful of sugar in Gilbert's tea before serving himself.

Gilbert stirred his tea and sipped the sweet liquid. This was so good! He hadn't had sugar in ages.

Russia smiled happily when he saw that his guest enjoyed the sugary drink. "I'll call for the meal," he said and left the room to return with a servant who carried a tray loaded with food.

A little while later, the table was covered with plates and bowls filled with all sorts of food: stew, pelmeni dumplings, salad, pirozhki, and bread. Gilbert's mouth watered at the delicious smell.

"Would you like some of the shchi?" Russia asked, offering the best dish there was first, then proceeding with the salad and the dumplings. He put all kinds of food on Gilbert's plate and then served himself.

At Ivan's "Enjoy your meal" Gilbert dug into his food. It was delicious, especially the shchi which resembled a rich cabbage soup with lots of chicken in it, and the pelmeni that were filled with minced meat and onions. He gorged himself on all the different foods, not wanting to miss out on anything, nodding and answering Braginski's questions in between to keep the conversation going. It mainly consisted of Ivan telling him more about the bet in which he won the ten bottles of vodka.

Ivan himself ate slowly and enjoyed watching Gilbert gobble down the food at rapid speed. Fulfilling the duty of a good host, he conscientiously re-filled his guest's plate whenever Gilbert had emptied enough space to put more food on it. Russia was pleased about how big his guest's appetite was.

However, Gilbert soon felt an uneasy sensation around his stomach and slowed down. He took a few more bites of the pirozhki, but couldn't finish them. He tried his luck with a spoon full of stew, which didn't help either. What was going on, he wondered. He had spent night after night craving for food, and now that he had it all in front of him, he felt too queasy to eat any more. Had Braginski poisoned his food to make him sick on purpose? Who knew what was going on in that twisted mind of his.  
But when he saw that Russia was eating the same food as he was, he realized there was no poison. It was rather that his stomach had shrunken from the prolonged lack of food and simply couldn't take up any more. He put his spoon aside, stomach churning and ready to burst.

Braginski noticed his hesitation and stopped eating, too. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Don't you like the egg filling of the pirozhki? Try one with a cabbage filling instead." He reached for the plate.

"Oh no, thank you." Gilbert said, feeling sick in earnest now. "They're delicious, and I wish I could eat more, but I can't. I'm full."

"Are you not feeling all right? Your face is all greenish."

Gilbert felt he was going to be sick any time now. "Excuse me for a minute," he said as he got up and rushed to the bathroom.

When Gilbert returned, he found a worried commander waiting for him. "Are you okay? Feeling better now?" He asked, watching him with concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," Gilbert replied, sitting down at the table again.

"Let me get you a glass of water," Braginski offered and walked over to the cabinet to fetch a bottle of water and a glass for his guest.

Despite his bout of sickness, Gilbert had not forgotten about his resolve to bring some food for his fellow nations. As soon as Braginski turned his back on him, he quickly stuffed his pockets with several pelmeni and pirozhki.

Russia returned to the table and placed a glass of water in front of Gilbert. He hadn't noticed anything. "Maybe you just ate too fast. Try to drink some of the water, but drink slowly. If that doesn't make you sick again, you might want to try to finish your meal, more slowly this time."

He waited for Gilbert to drink some water and start eating again. When he felt certain that his guest was all right again, he asked, "So how do you like life in camp?"

Gilbert almost choked on his shchi. Why was Braginski asking him that? Was it his being sick that had prompted him to ask such a question? Was he even serious at all?  
He surveyed Braginski's face, but he couldn't detect any trace of irony. Gilbert hesitated for a few seconds. What on earth was he supposed to answer without risking making Braginski mad? But he was smiling and seemed so friendly, so he decided to be open with him.  
"What do you think? To be honest, I've seen better places." He looked at Braginski, and seeing that he took the criticism calmly, he went on. "The food is insufficient, and that's putting it mildly." He paused, and again, there was no reaction. "The rations we get barely keep us alive. And there are officers who steal food. You really should do someth-"

He stopped when the commander deeply inhaled and stood up, the smile wiped off his face. Gilbert hoped he hadn't said too much.

He followed Ivan with his eyes as he walked to the window where he lit himself a cigarette. He didn't let on whether he was offended by his guest's answer. But he didn't offer Gilbert one of his cigarettes, so Gilbert assumed he was not pleased with him.

Russia opened the window and blew a lung full of smoke into the night before he turned back to Gilbert. "It's not as easy as you think."   


As he seemed calm and composed, Gilbert couldn't help but follow up on the issue. "Why not? You're the commander. It's up to you to make sure the camp is run well."

Ivan took another drag of his cigarette and stared outside into the darkness for several minutes. The cold night air was filling the room; it was getting uncomfortably chilly, but Ivan didn't seem to care. After a while, he replied with a question. "You think today's dinner was substandard, too?"

"I'm not talking about the dinner you gave me today. It's the usual food rations we get that are too low in quantity and quality."

"What if I provided you with dinner every night? And lunch on top of it? Would that satisfy your standards?"

This had Gilbert think for a few seconds before he answered. "I wouldn't say no to that, but…" His voiced trailed off. This seemed too easy. Something about it was wrong, but he couldn't name what exactly it was that bothered him.

"But what?"

Yes, Gilbert thought frantically, what was it that he wanted to say? He didn't find any words for it. This was foul, it didn't solve the underlying problem at all. He didn't want to be in camp in the first place, but he felt he'd better not say that aloud. Also, he felt like he was compromising too much, and what about the others? He didn't reply, he just looked at the commander.

Again, there was this ironic smile. Somehow, it made Prussia feel rather uneasy now.

After a few more drags of his cigarette, the commander closed the window. "I noticed that you are excellent at ironing."

"Thank you," Gilbert replied, surprised about the sudden change of topic. What was Braginski aiming at?

"Please forgive me. I have enquired about you with your supervisors, both from the forest and the laundry. They both told me that your work was faultless and they had no reason to complain."

By now Gilbert had an idea of where the conversation was headed. Was this the reason Braginski had invited him?

"I'm currently looking for someone to assist me and my clerk. That person will have to help with the secretarial work, clean the office, and help out on errands. I was wondering whether you would like to take on that post. I think it would fit you perfectly. As you can iron so well, it would still be your job to iron the uniforms, but you would be dispensed from the washing. What do you say to that?" He looked expectantly at Gilbert, and when he didn't answer immediately, he turned his attention to the ashtray on the windowsill.

Gilbert noticed that Braginski suddenly seemed much occupied with his cigarette, carefully stubbing it out in the ashtray, avoiding looking at him. Why all this nervousness and the talking, he wondered. Braginski was the commander; he could just order him to work for him if he felt like it.

Still, it took Gilbert only about a split second to decide. He might have just gotten a good, no, a very good job in the laundry, but being the commander's personal assistant was even higher in the hierarchy of jobs and would open up new opportunities for him. After dining with the commander tonight, he couldn't understand the people who were afraid of him. Braginski had been perfectly polite and friendly, even truly concerned about him and caring for his well-being. He hadn't even punished him for criticizing the camp's conditions. The warnings he had received from the trusty seemed to be bare of any substance. The fact that Braginski wanted him as his personal assistant was a sign of appreciation and respect, and what more could he possibly ask for? He couldn't miss out on this opportunity.

His thoughts were interrupted by Braginski's voice. It seemed he couldn't stand the pressure of uncertainty any longer. "I'm sorry if I pressed for an answer. You don't have to answer immediately; take your time and think about it. You might want to sleep a night over it." He turned to the door.

"No, wait." Gilbert called him back. "I've already made my decision. I'll gladly take on that job," he assured Braginski, a self-confident smirk on his face. "When can I start?"

"I see that you are eager to work for me. I appreciate that." Braginski smiled. "If you like, you can start tomorrow morning. I will let the laundry supervisor know that you are working for me now."

"Of course I want," Gilbert said.

"I'll expect you in my office tomorrow morning then. Do you have any questions?"

Gilbert's eyes fell on the commander's uniform. He had noticed the stars, but he wanted to make sure. "What's your rank?" he asked.

"I'm a major."

So it was true. Gilbert swallowed. A major. Not bad for someone around his age. He regarded Braginski with new respect.

"Is that your only question?" Russia looked expectantly.

"How old are you?"

"Take a guess."

"25?"

"No," Braginski smiled. "I'm 23."

So Braginski was actually younger than he himself was? It stung Gilbert's pride that someone younger than he was higher in rank and his superior.

"And what's your age?" Braginski took his turn in asking.

"I'm 24," Gilbert replied.

"That's funny. I thought you were not older than 22," Braginski said, amused. "But anyway, let me get us a drink to duly celebrate the occasion." He fetched the bottle of vodka from earlier that evening and poured two fresh glasses. "Here's to a fruitful cooperation," he toasted, glass raised. They clinked glasses and downed the vodka.

After two more drinks, Ivan considered the deal sufficiently sealed. "See you tomorrow then," he said. "And have a good night."

Gilbert turned to leave, his head swirling, but before he had reached the door, he stopped. There was one last thing he wanted to know. "Why did you choose me?"

Russia looked back at Gilbert. "Because I like your candor," he said, an inexplicable expression on his face.

As Gilbert scurried off towards his cabin, he already pictured himself dining with Russia every day and bringing home food for his fellow inmates every night. They would be thrilled at the news.

...

**A/N: Thanks for reading :) As always, I'd love to know your reactions! For this chapter, I'm especially curious what you think about Russia. **


	16. Reactions

**16. Reactions. **

"Hey, there you are. Where have you been so long? Did you have to work overtime?" Latvia asked as Prussia entered the cabin, curious about why he had returned so late.

"Ha. Nobody can make me work overtime." Prussia replied, a smug grin on his face. He slipped out of his dirty shoes and placed them by the door. "I had dinner with Braginski." He said casually as he swaggered over to the table, around which the others were sitting. At their astonished looks, his smirk broadened. Standing before them and fully aware that their eyes were all on him, he leisurely produced pirozhki after pirozhki from his pockets and dropped them on the table. "What do you say now?" He asked with flashing teeth before before he let himself collapse on the wooden bench next to Poland. He leaned back and stretched out his legs, looking at the others expectantly.

The others didn't touch the food, they just kept looking in wonder. "What you just said about dinner, could you say it again? I don't think I heard it right." Bulgaria asked.

"You heard perfectly right. Braginski found my work so awesome that he invited me to have dinner with him! By the way, he dished up far more than just these puny pirozhki, but it's a bit difficult to transport chicken stew and soups in my clothes. Kesesesese!"

"If this is true, the commander is even stranger than I thought," Estonia commented. "I mean, he must have impaired judgement if he really thinks your work is in any way exceptional."

"The cold must have addled your brain. Of course Braginski is right. You've never seen me work in the laundry. I'm the awesomest laundry worker ever!" They were so slow on the uptake, Gilbert thought. He had expected them to appreciate his accomplishment more readily. "Don't stare at the pirozhki as if they could bite you any second. They're for you," he asserted. "_Guten Appetit! (1)_"

"Who would have thought that Prussia would bring us food?" Lithuania remarked, still reluctant to accept the gift.

"Don't act like I have no sympathy. When Braginski piled up all the food in front of me, I couldn't help but think of my poor bunk mates who would still be hungry after their scanty supper."

"We gave Prussia our food over the past weeks, so it's only fair that we have our share when he finally brings something in return." Poland grabbed a pelmeni and bit into it.

The others followed his example. Satisfied, Gilbert leaned back in his seat and watched them munch away at the pastry. "Braginski also asked me to work for him. Starting tomorrow, I'll be his personal assistant." He intently watched their expressions as the message sank in. Estonia, Lithuania and Poland seemed unaffected, but Bulgaria and Latvia smiled back at him. "Am I awesome or am I awesome?" He asked, his grin getting broader.

"That's great!" Latvia exclaimed at hearing the news. "How did you achieve that?"

"He checked my work, and at dinner, he must have recognized how awesome I am! Now who says my work's not good enough?" Prussia triumphantly smirked at Estonia.

"When did you become so lucky?" Latvia asked with a mixture of admiration and envy. "First the job in the laundry, now dinner with the commander _and_ a new job with him."

"My lucky streak had to go up after everything that happened." He grinned, again in the direction of Estonia, who looked guilt-ridden at the allusion to his failed plan. "Did you seriously think they would let the awesome Me rot away in the forest forever? I always knew I was destined for something better."

"This is so unfair," Poland pouted. "Why does _he_ always get the good jobs?"

"Stop complaining, your job is not that bad," Bulgaria tried to call him to reason. "Look at me: I have to work in the forest every day, while you get some days off for cleaning duty. You have no reason to complain."

"But Braginski should have asked Liet or me first. Haven't we cleaned the camp for weeks? We're much more experienced than Prussia."

"Po, we should be glad Braginski didn't pick us. I for my part wouldn't want to work as Braginski's personal servant even if he offered me some form of payment," Lithuania said. "To me, this all sounds rather suspicious. Who knows what Russia's up to and what the job will be like. I wouldn't trust him. Everyone I have met is scared of him. Prussia, you can still opt out of it, just tell him you're not up to the work or something."

"He has a point there," Estonia said. "If I were you, Gilbert, I would be very cautious. You don't know what his intentions are. But still, I think you should seize this opportunity. Maybe he'll give you more of his food. And after all, it's only a job. Russia won't be able to do you much harm while you're cleaning his office."

"It's not just cleaning," Prussia protested. "He says he'll mainly let me do secretarial work."

This had the others laughing. "He chose _you_ to do paperwork? Are you kidding me?" Lithuania asked. "I mean, are you even sure you want to do that kind of work? I don't think you'll enjoy it."

"I'll be the most awesome clerk he's ever had! Just you wait!"

"The hell you are," Estonia said. "Your spoken Russian may be all right, but you can't read and write the language well enough to do secretarial work. When we read the _Pravda (2)_ in Communist indoctrination class, you don't even understand half of what the articles say. Braginski will fire you after he sees the first letter written by you."

Prussia folded his arms above his head. "He'll let me do something with numbers, I suppose."

"I thought you found such type of work boring," Bulgaria said.

"Don't try to talk me out of it. I'll run errands, too, and there will be some cleaning, so it's a good mixture. You're just jealous because I have the best job and you know it. When you're freezing your asses off cutting timber in a blizzard tomorrow, think of me, because I'll be safe and warm in Braginski's office. Kesesesese!"

"You'll be on your knees scrubbing the floor before you know it," Poland grumbled.

"Prussia's old job in the laundry must be vacant then," Estonia said. "One of us should apply for it first thing tomorrow morning, before anyone else finds out."

But who of them should they propose for the laundry job? They looked at each other.

"Lithuania and Poland, you both already have cleaning jobs and don't really need Gilbert's old job," Estonia finally said. "I myself would rather continue to work in the forest, as I'm quite experienced with that work and the guard often lets me act as a foreman. That leaves Latvia and Bulgaria as candidates for the laundry job. I think Latvia should get it. He's not as strong as Bulgaria and less fitted for the hard work in the forest. Plus, I can have you do the easier work, Bulgaria, when I'm your foreman." Estonia put forward his arguments for shifting the laundry job to Latvia.

Bulgaria knew Estonia was right. He could see Latvia struggle under the hard work every day. He nodded.

Latvia himself looked to the ground, ashamed at being called weak, but of course he wanted the laundry job.

Poland protested: "What about Liet and me? You just left us out. One of us could take on the laundry job, too. Latvia could take over the cleaning job then."

"I thought you two wanted to work together," Estonia said.

"I wouldn't mind being separated from Lithuania if I could get the laundry job."

Lithuania looked hurt.

Estonia frowned. Were they going to argue about the job distribution?

"Po, please. Estonia is right. Latvia needs the job more than we do," Lithuania tried to convince his best friend. "Plus, it's better for us if we stay together."

"How is it better for me if I work together with you? I just don't see it," Poland said stubbornly. He turned to Prussia. "You with your super job and your good connections to the commander, can't you just ask him to give me the laundry job?"

"No, definitely not. What do you expect of me?" Prussia frowned angrily. He hadn't even started his new job yet, and already Poland was demanding favors from him. "You heard what Estonia said. Just leave me out of it. I don't care who of you gets the job."

Estonia interfered. "Poland, don't be ridiculous. You're outvoted. Please, let Latvia apply for the job."

"Whatever." Knowing he had lost, Poland gave in to the majority decision, but he remained in a sullen mood for the rest of the evening, casting envious glances to Prussia and Latvia and muttering angry words under his breath whenever he passed one of them.

...

Annotations:

(1) Guten Appetit – Enjoy your meal

(2) Pravda – A Communist newspaper

...

_A/N: R&R, please!_


	17. The guards

_**Warning **about the direction this story is taking: The rating will be T for several more chapters, but eventually, the rating will go up to M for sexual violence. _

_Warning for offensive homophobic utterances in this chapter.  
_

**17. The guards **

After breakfast the next morning, Lithuania gave Latvia a pack of tobacco that he had kept hidden under the straw of his bunk. It was part of his and Poland's loot, and the group had kept this secret hoard for unforeseen events. Latvia applying for Prussia's old job in the laundry definitely qualified as an affair where a bribe could be of help.

Beside the breakfast table, Lithuania was giving Latvia some last instructions. "If no-one's gotten wind of the vacancy yet, you stand a good chance." Lithuania dipped his hands in the jug of drinking water and ran his fingers through a rebellious strand of Latvia's hair to smoothen it out. "All you have to do is go up to the officer and ask him. It's important to make a good impression."

"Lithuania, do you really think it's necessary to spiff him up like that?" Bulgaria was sitting at the table, with his cup of coffee still in front of him, and watched the two with an amused expression. "A polished scarecrow will still be a scarecrow."

"Nothing can beat a good first impression." Lithuania looked up for a second. "Po, wouldn't you like to lend me a hand getting Latvia ready? Your good taste is much needed here."

"No, I don't feel like it," came Poland's voice from the direction of his bunk.

It pained Lithuania to hear his closest friend's voice all small and subdued. He tried not to show his worries to Latvia as he went on doing his hair. Ever since yesterday, when the group had decided that Latvia should get the job in the laundry, Poland had seemed somewhat dispirited. Usually, he liked to apply his refined taste and sense of fashion, and it wasn't like him at all that he had just declined the offer to help doing Latvia's hair. Lithuania's face frowned with concern.

"Lithuania, don't overdo it. The guards won't decide on the basis of how his hair looks." Estonia had lifted his head from the shoe he was mending. "They're more impressed by strength and height. Sorry to say that, Latvia, but you don't stand much of a chance concerning the last aspect."

Latvia blushed. He knew he was small; Estonia needn't have reminded him of it.

Lithuania cast a reproachful look to Estonia. "That was unnecessary." He turned his attention from Estonia back to Latvia. "Don't listen to him, Raivis, you're fine." His hair was okay now, so he started to inspect his clothes. "Where was I? Ah yes, you go up to the guard room and demand to speak to the officer who leads roll call. It will either be the big blond one who's always so distasteful and unpleasant, or the tall and thin one who's so strict."

"I'm not stupid." Latvia shrunk away a little from Lithuania.

"I know you're not," Lithuania took Latvia by the shoulder and busied himself with brushing some dust off of his jacket. "But keep in mind to watch your mouth. One rash word can be enough to make the officer mad and take his temper out on you."

"You're scaring him," Bulgaria interjected.

"I'm just reminding him of how cruel these guards can be." Lithuania wetted his hands again and began to rub out a stain on Latvia's shirt.

"Toris, I believe you're more nervous than he is." Bulgaria chuckled. He turned around in an attempt to catch Prussia's eye to get him to join the banter, but Prussia was standing in the darker part of the room with his back to the others, ruffling the flattened straw on his bunk. There was an air of distance surrounding him. Bulgaria remembered how disappointed he had seemed the night before when Estonia, Lithuania and Poland had not shared his joy about his new job with the commander. Bulgaria kept watching him as he turned to folding his blanket. He seemed almost haughty, as if what the others were doing was none of his concern any more, now that he had moved on to a better job.

Prussia wasn't the only one who did not take part in the conversation. Bulgaria became aware of Poland sitting quietly in a corner of his bunk. He was sitting with his back leaned against the wall and his knees pulled up, but his eyes were attentively following each of Lithuania's movements. He seemed shy, Bulgaria observed, but at least he seemed to have calmed after his last night's bad temper. The night before, Lithuania had spent considerable time talking to him, again explaining to him why it was best to let Latvia do the laundry job. The result was that Poland had finally come to accept that he wasn't going to get a better job. But he had also seemed frailer than before, as if most of his remaining energy had left his wiry body and usually so active mind. Although Lithuania had tried to reason with him and get his mind away from camp and onto more pleasant things, he hadn't responded much to that. He hadn't said much during breakfast.

Bulgaria focussed on Lithuania and Latvia again, but refrained from tossing in any further remarks. Something about seeing Prussia and Poland had snuffed out his playful mood.

Lithuania adjusted Latvia's shirt collar with skilful movements before he leaned back and gave Latvia a last appraising look-over. "Now you look presentable." He ushered Latvia to the door.

"Oh, one word before you go, Latvia." Estonia coughed slightly. "Try not to look like you're in desperate need of the job. Be polite and friendly, but don't forget to show confidence. As much as you would like the job, remember it won't be the end of your life if you don't get it. That's all." He turned his attention back to mending his footgear.

"You heard him. Now off you go." Lithuania held the creaking cabin door open for Latvia. A gush of cold air entered the cabin. "Good luck, Raivis. Let's hope we won't see each other in the forest today." He looked after the small nation as he set off and scurried along the dark road. In the spots under the street lamps, the road shimmered white with frost. It was pristine except for the large dark footprints the nightwatchman had left on his round, and now Latvia's footsteps were adding smaller imprints as he walked in the direction of the guard room. Lithuania could see it at the end of the road. Under the light post in front of it, a number of early guards had already begun assembling for roll call.

"Look, there's a prisoner coming," Lithuania heard a guard say. He could see the guards plant themselves at the foot of the stairs that led up to the guard room.

Latvia approached the group of guards and as they didn't move out of his way, he stopped before them.

"Go back to your cabin. You're supposed to stay there until roll call."

"I'd like to speak to the officer on duty," Latvia said.

Lithuania heard a guard snicker. "Look how cute he is." The guard took a step closer to Latvia and bent down to him. "I'm the officer on duty." He leered in Latvia's face and tried to pull his ear, accompanied by the others' laughter.

Latvia took a step back. "No, you're not." He knew the badges on the guards' uniforms and could tell apart normal guards and officers. "Where can I find the officer on duty?"

There were jeers and utterances of disappointment by the guards when Latvia didn't prove to be an easy target.

"Ah, don't let me down, cutie." The guard drew back and threw his hands up in an exaggerated gesture of hurt pride.

Another guard laughed. "He gave you the brush-off. Probably doesn't like your beardy mug." He laughingly patted the guard that had spoken to Latvia on the back.

"Where's the officer on duty? I want to speak to him," Latvia persisted.

"Oh no. He's serious about it. How will I deal with this blow?" Now the guard feigned heartache, with his hand put on his heart.

Latvia had enough. He pushed his way through the guards and climbed the stairs that led to the guard room, closely followed by one of the guards.

Lithuania saw them walk past a guard who was standing on the stairhead, smoking a cigarette. He waited until they had disappeared inside the guard room before he turned around and got back inside the cabin to get ready for roll call and work.

Inside the guard room, the guard led Latvia to the officer on duty. "This here prisoner wants to talk to you." He briefly introduced Latvia and left.

"What is it?" the officer asked. "Another case of pneumonia?"

It was the big blond one. "No, sir, it's not that. I came to ask if I could work in the laundry. There should be a job vacant there because my bunk mate, who worked there, got a new job yesterday."

The officer perked his eyebrows. "What's his name, and where does he work now?" He had not heard about it yet.

"His name is Prussia. He works as the commander's personal assistant now."

"That's interesting. Isn't he the one with red eyes, who got shifted to the laundry job only a week ago because he was unfit for any hard work?"

"Yes, that's him." Latvia nodded.

"Quite a career." The officer examined the small prisoner standing in front of him. Maybe he could get some more information out of him. He would be willing to talk, since he wanted something from him in return. "How come he became a personal assistant to the commander?"

"He said the commander asked him because his work was so good."

This had the officer slap his hand on the table, snorting with laughter. He peeked out of the window to the guard on the stairhead. "There's something you need to hear, comrade," he shouted, rapping against the window pane.

"What is it?" The guard appeared in the door.

"This prisoner here," the officer spluttered breathlessly, pointing to Latvia, "tells me that Comrade Queer got himself a new servant. It appears he told him that he liked his _work_."

The guard squinted. "Are you sure this isn't some trick or misinformation?"

"Oh, come on. Look at this prisoner. Are you suggesting that someone with such an innocent face would lie to me?"

After a short examining glance at Latvia the guard said, "Probably not. Who did Braginski choose?"

"Do you know the troublemaker who made such a fuss when he found out about our business?"

"The obnoxious one with the strange red eyes?" The guard seemed interested now.

"Yes. It's him."

The guard whistled through his teeth. "To each his own. Wonder what he sees in him, though."

"You have a dirty mind. I prefer not to think about that. But I'd say it serves the red-eyed devil right after causing us so much trouble."

The guard swayed his head. "Braginski will have a tough time with him."

"You think so? Andrei says he was meek as a lamb around Comrade Queer when they were in his office."

"Oh, was he? Hard to imagine. Anyway, Dimitry will be glad to be out of Braginski's line of fire. I need to get going now. See you." He raised his hand in greeting and was gone.

Latvia had stood by and looked from one to the other, trying not to let on his confusion. He didn't know what to think of this.

The officer turned his attention back to Latvia. "So you want your friend's job in the laundry, eh?" He scrutinized the nodding prisoner standing before him. "You're small, but you look pretty strong and robust. I dare say with your strong arms and back you're pretty good at chopping wood. You look like you were made for work in the forest and I think you should continue working there."

"I could use my arms to wash clothes and hang them out to dry, too."

"Oh, I have a smart one here. Clever kid are you, eh? How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen."

"And tell me, what makes a young man like you want to work in the laundry? You know, most people think of it as a job for sissies. Is there a chance that you are taking after your red-eyed friend here?"

"I thought it would be better than working in the forest. Warmer, you know."

"I see, I see. You're alright, kid. But there's a little problem. I can't remove everyone from forest work. 'Cause where would we be if nobody worked there any more? This camp was built to produce wood. Last time it was your friend, now it's you. At this rate, there'll soon be nobody left to do the actual work."

"Working in the laundry is work that needs to be done, too," Latvia said, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling the pack of tobacco out so far that its tip showed. "It's only me. There are still many prisoners left who work in the forest."

The kid was clever indeed. And so curteous. Knew how to behave. "I'll see what I can do for you. I can't promise anything, but you're lucky that I happen to be friends with the captain." The guard stood up and walked up to Latvia. He sneaked out his hand, and Latvia gave him the tobacco, hoping he would keep his word. "Come along with me," the guard said, tucking the tobacco in his pocket. He walked towards the door and called, "I'm gone for a minute."

"Why?" the other guard asked back.

"Urgent business." The officer grinned and opened the door. "I'll be back in a second."

Latvia followed him to another office, whose walls were plastered with huge charts and schedules.

"Good morning, Andrei." The officer greeted the captain who was bent over a notebook.

"Good morning." The captain looked up at them questioningly.

"I have a prisoner here who wants to work in the laundry. Apparently, there's a job vacant there."

"Is there? Grisha didn't mention anything."

"The news is still fresh. As of today, the red-eyed one, Prussia, works for Comrade Queer."

"You should come up with such news every morning. Then I wouldn't be so bored whenever I catch a glimpse of you." The captain sneered. "Comrade Queer and a prisoner." He shook his head.

"That's what this prisoner says, and I don't think he's lying."

"Oh, I do believe you. It's just that it's strange to work for and take commands from a faggot. Someone like him shouldn't be in that position."

The officer muttered his approval. "It's high time he gets kicked out."

"Yes, and better sooner than later." The captain turned to Latvia. "What's your name, prisoner?"

"My name is Latvia."

The captain checked a book. "It says here that he works on the logging squad. I can't withdraw him from that work. I need people there."

"But he has already paid." The officer tossed the pack of tobacco on the desk. "Let's go halves."

"Well, I guess I have to make allowances for interesting news. But still, I'm going to ring Comrade Queer up first. I want him to tell me all by himself that he's hired a prisoner before I make anything official." The captain took up the receiver and dialled a number. "Good morning, Commander," he said. "Is it true that prisoner Prussia is working for you now?"

Latvia and the officer could hear the scratchy sounds of a voice speaking back from the phone, then the captain asked, "So I can re-assign his old job in the laundry?" There was a short reply, upon which the captain hung the phone up.

He turned his attention back to the officer. "What the prisoner said is true," he said. "Not that it surprises me, though." He opened the pack of tobacco and took out half of its contents before he passed the remaining half back to the officer. "Still, this is the last time I can do that for you. There aren't enough people working in the forest as it is. I can't afford to lose any more of them to other kinds of work." He noted something down in his book and snapped it shut. "Take him to the laundry, and give Grisha my regards."

When they arrived at the laundry, they found out that the officer in charge had not heard yet that Prussia wouldn't be working for him any longer. If he had known, he would have liked to mend his wages by recruiting a replacement by himself, but obviously, it was too late for that now. So he welcomed Latvia, angry with himself for not having been fast enough.

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Please note that the views voiced by the guards are not mine. In case you were waiting to read about Gilbert and Russia again: They are going to appear in the next chapter when Gilbert starts his new job. _


End file.
